


10 Years Gone

by idanato



Series: The Darkest Mage Timeline [9]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Break Up, Burlesque, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Post-Canon, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Role Playing, Roommates, Sad with a Happy Ending, background caspar/linhardt having a baby, background claude/petra, background ferdinand/bernadetta and their kids, bad mental healthcare in Fodlan, dom dorothea, flashbacks to Edelgards decline and death, past Edelgard/Dorothea, past Hubert/Mercedes, two bi people having a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 81,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idanato/pseuds/idanato
Summary: It's 1196, the empire won, but the Emperor is gone. Hubert is having to figure out who he is without her, while Dorothea plays her (ex-girlfriend) on stage several nights a week in addition to some questionable side hustles she's not putting on her resume. After Hubert catches her crashing in her dressing room he forces her to take his guest room, no strings attached he swears. He thinks she'd make a great spy, but from there, their lives start to tangle and twist.
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley & Hubert von Vestra, Dorothea Arnault/Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard von Hresvelg & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir & Hubert von Vestra
Series: The Darkest Mage Timeline [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536886
Comments: 70
Kudos: 114





	1. A Most Inaccurate Opera

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually there is a reference to a suicide attempt and subsequent institutionalization with one character; this will be tagged in the relevant chapter. 
> 
> Otherwise...this is pretty mild given the tone of the last couple installments in the series.

**Flashback, Imperial Palace, 1169.**

Young princess Edelgard clutched her favorite play to her chest.

“Please Hubert, you have to read it, I’m, I’m ordering you to,” she pleaded drawing her trump card.

Hubert groaned as he took the script for The Kingdom of Moon and Empire of Sun and opened it to the part she had bookmarked for him. He cleared his throat.

“Wait! I have to get into position, the princess is supposed to be on a balcony,” protested Edelgard as she climbed up on her tall bed. She hung over the edge and looked down at him encouragingly, “Okay, you can start!”

Hubert was lying on his stomach and kicking his legs idly behind him as he read the lines, “My princess fair, my princess fair. How can I possibly reach you when you are all the way up there?”

“My prince, my prince, so far away,” cooed Edelgard dramatically. She had memorized it, and to be fair by this point he had read this so often he had too. “My prince of night.”

“My princess of day,” finished Hubert as he looked up at Edelgard. “With all this space in our way, all I have are these words to say.”

He took a deep breath and waited for her start the line they had to say in unison, “I love you, I love you!”

Hubert continued with his line, “These words I have for you alone, for we can never live together, our hearts must be our home.”

Edelgard gave a pleased sigh, “Hubert, isn’t this just the most romantic play?”

Hubert cocked an eyebrow at her, “They love each other but they can’t be together, that’s not romantic, that’s a tragedy.”

“But they love each other despite the odds against them,” Edelgard clasped her hands together over her heart and rolled over so that her light brown hair was hanging down. “So all they can do is say it because they can’t do anything else!”

Hubert shut the play and hoped he’d have at least 24 hours before she made him read that drivel again. “How do you know if you love someone anyway?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Edelgard. She smiled at him, “I love you Hubert.”

Hubert scrunched up his face, “No you don’t, I’m your vassal, you’re not allowed to love me.”

She was seven, what did she know about politics? “I love my mother, and I love my father, they love me, and well, I love you too. Like my brothers and my sisters!”

Loving him like a brother didn’t seem that dangerous. “Well, I suppose that’s permitted, but, I don’t think you should tell anyone about it,” said Hubert uncertainly. This seemed like something his father would lecture at him for, or worse.

“Fine, I’ll only tell you then,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “I love you Hubert.”

She waited patiently. Hubert frowned, “What?”

Edelgard pouted, clearly wounded, “You’re supposed to say it back!”

“I love you too Edelgard,” murmured Hubert, hoping fervently that no servants were overhearing this exchange.

“See that wasn’t so hard,” teased Edelgard.

It was hard though, it was the first time Hubert had ever said he loved someone. It was the first time he ever acknowledged that he might feel it. Edelgard had lots of love surrounding her, she was bathed in it all the time from everyone around her. Hubert had no love from anyone, only her, and so he had love for only her.

***

**Present day, The Vestra Estate, outside Enbarr, 1196.**

Minister Vestra began each morning with a pot of coffee and the morning issue of the Enbarr Herald. His aids read through the other periodicals of Fodlan and would bring him articles of interest, but he himself made sure to review the capital’s most popular paper every day. As he flipped through, a full page ad stopped him in his tracks. Dorothea Arnault was splashed across the page, done up to look like the late Emperor. _The War for Unification_ was scheduled to premier in a month, and tickets for the limited run were selling out quickly. Hubert’s eyes traced down to the smaller depictions of the Black Eagle Strike Force and smirked at his own villainous appearance. As with anything characterizing living figures, it was sure to be a controversial show.

“Fritz,” Hubert called over his assistant who was lurking in a shadow, “Please stop by the Mittlefrank box office today and get me a balcony reserved for the opening of this show.”

“Do you want one ticket, or,” began Fritz carefully. Hubert had rescued Fritz from the rock bottom of the Enbarr bureaucracy after noticing the eager to please but painfully awkward young man clerking for some unworthy politician. Fritz was unappealing to look at and socially inept, but was amazing at carrying out orders; Hubert adored him in a platonic boss-assistant relationship sort of way.

“Reserve the whole box,” clarified Hubert. “And send an invitation to the von Aegirs.”

“And if there isn’t a balcony available for the opening? Would you prefer a specific night?”

“Do what you must to get it for the opening,” Hubert shrugged, “Make an investment in the opera company if you have to.” Everything had its price, and Lord Vestra had quite a bit of disposable income. He’d done some very dangerous work for the empire following the war in an awful place called Shambhala and he’d gotten a really handsome pension for it.

“Very good Lord Vestra,” said Fritz with a quick bow. “Will there be anything else you require?”

Hubert regarded Fritz and sighed. He imagined his poor assistant prided himself on keeping long hours and never taking days off despite Hubert ordering him to. “No, Fritz that will be all.”

Hubert hadn’t seen Dorothea in a long time. As far as he knew, she’d been on tour for the past few years. Every once in a while he’d get a postcard from some far flung locale wishing him well. She had surprised him back when they were students. Upon meeting her he’d written her off as a vapid girl destined to be a trophy wife, but she had stunned him with how clever and caring she could be. She had also been a fair mage, even if she wasn’t as emotionally cut out for battle as some of their fellow soldiers. They’d had some good times, and some bad ones, and thinking about them made Hubert strangely miss his school days. He wasn’t usually one for nostalgia but they had just passed the 15 year anniversary of the class of 1180 and Hubert was thinking about the past quite a bit. Ferdinand was moping that they hadn’t done anything to commemorate that, but he and Bernadetta had just had another baby and couldn’t plan a reunion, and like hell Hubert was going to do that. He’d go if Ferdinand absolutely ordered him to, but as far as Hubert was concerned he had his best friends here in Enbarr and really didn’t care to see anyone else from Garreg Mach. He suspected the feeling was mutual.

***

Ferdinand leaned on the railing of the balcony with a tiny pair of opera glasses glued to the stage. Hubert leaned back in his chair while Bernadetta shook her head, “I just know I’m going to be embarrassed.”

He looked at her sympathetically, “We can be embarrassed together. I promise you your depiction will be kinder than mine.” He read the paper everyday, he was well aware of how he was perceived. The shadowy Minister of Whispers was not winning any popularity contests.

“I heard that they just keep me behind a door for the whole first act,” said Bernadetta with annoyance. The preview of the show earlier this week had generated quite a stir and the opera house was packed for the opening.

A hush came over the audience as Dorothea walked out on the stage. She was still statuesque and radiant even after all these years. People got up to applaud and she flashed her famous smile. She was wearing a white wig done to look like Edelgard’s hair, and a crimson dress. From a distance, she almost looked like the Empress reincarnate. Almost. It was clearly still Dorothea beneath the costume.

As she began to sing the opening number, Hubert’s heart broke a bit. The song was all about Edelgard’s vicious past at the hands of the Agarthans. While it was meant to frame her resolve, for Hubert it just brought back memories of one of the worst times in his life. If this was how he felt in the first few minutes, he dreaded the next three hours.

“Hubert, oh no, that’s supposed to be you,” said Ferdinand in a whispered giggle when the actor portraying Hubert walked onto the stage. The actor’s makeup was a flat white, and his hair had been done up into elaborate horns. Ferdinand hummed along happily until his character hit the stage. He was super short, rather wide, and had the most ridiculous long red wig. The actor playing Hubert belted out a wicked chorus about how much he desired Edelgard, to comical retorts by all the other actors about his evil conduct and the ridiculousness of his devotion. Hubert folded his arms and made a mental note to have the writer of the opera looked into.

“That was quite harsh,” whispered Bernadetta. She jumped in her seat as the actor portraying her let out a shriek. “Ugh, is it over yet?”

It was not all unflattering, but much of it was romanticized and factually inaccurate. Dorothea was of course flawless as a very admirable and stalwart vision of Edelgard. That pleased Hubert greatly. He no longer spent his days protecting her image because it was firmly solidified in the popular culture. Anything less than an Emperor beyond parallel would not have played well with the audience. Unfortunately, the rest of the Black Eagles did not receive the same treatment.

Caspar had been made into a sort of love interest for Byleth, and the late Prince Dimitri of all people was supposed to be Edelgard’s one true love. There was a whole number about them dancing as children turning into dancing with blades as adults. Hubert sighed, the public was captivated by the short time Dimitri and Edelgard had spent as children but seemed to be content to ignore the years that Hubert and Edelgard had spent together before and after that episode. He knew he was viewed as the devil on Edelgard’s shoulder, and whenever someone took issue with a policy or decision made in the war, it was attributed to Hubert regardless of the truth. Sure, some of the worst stuff had been him, but a lot of the good too.

The actors playing Ferdinand and Hubert were comically played off each other well, although it seemed they were both locked in a doomed bid for Edelgard’s heart. Petra was portrayed a revered warrior princess, but her dialogue, while infrequent, came off as an offensive caricature. Claude was not even in the show. Linhardt was constantly falling asleep everywhere for laughs. Mercedes and Jertiza made a brief appearance and were killed off together before the intermission.

At the break, Hubert and Bernadetta exchanged looks. “That’s not what it was like at all,” whispered Bernadetta as she scowled. “And that love story with Dimitri, who came up with that?” He could practically hear her penning a letter to the paper under an anonymous pseudonym about how inaccurate this opera was.

Hubert was quietly remembering the real details of the events as if they were still fresh in his mind. Sometimes bits the war, and the things that came later, flashed back at him out of nowhere. He was surprised by how affecting the show was, “I’m going to go get some air.”

Hubert made his way to the entrance of the theater. He immediately regretted it; people recognized him, and they were discussing him within earshot. He knew that as the Minister of Whispers he was a figure of interest to the public, but he was not accustomed to being close enough to actually hear gossip about himself in real time. It was like being back in school all over again and not in a good way.

Yet despite his personal discomfort, Hubert was struck by how many of Fodlan’s elites were gathered and freely chatting during the intermission. He mused over how easy it would be to spy on people using a theater and a big headliner. Apparently Fritz had purchased access to the balcony for the entirety of the season; Hubert wondered how feasible it would be to send in agents each night to gather up notes on the sorts of things the people were talking about. Most of it was bound to be useless, but one never knew where a glimmer of intrigue might appear.

The second act picked up five years into the war, with Byleth’s triumphant return. It made it easy to keep the set as Garreg Mach but ignored all that they had been through during that time. Hubert was also dismayed by the turn of the plot, where his character conspired to kill off Dimitri in a nefarious bid for Edelgard’s affection. That was actually really offensive to him. He had spent that battle alongside Hilda Goneril of all people as they confronted their blue lion equivalent, Dedue, who had decided that sacrificing himself to become a demonic beast was a noble way to serve his prince. It had not been; the whole fight and the push inside Fhirdiad was the worst battle in terms of casualties in the entire war, in no small part because of the Agarthans meddling as they tried to remove all the great powers of Fodlan — Rhea, Dimitri, and Edelgard herself — in a bid to totally disrupt the continent.

Dorothea gave a heart wrenching eulogy for the fallen prince and proclaimed she would never love again. That got a standing ovation and the play wasn’t even over yet. It was not a secret that the real Edelgard was a lesbian, but people much preferred the idea that she died a lovely spinster pining over a prince she’d been forced to kill than the reality that sometimes she fucked their old professor with a strap on. As for how Hubert knew that, well, he had been the one who had to go pick out and buy the damn thing. For his best friend he would do literally anything, no matter what.

The show of course finished with the final face-off against the church. The effects for Rhea’s transformation were without a doubt pure theatrical magic and the last twenty minutes was the most epic battle ever set to stage. The audience was delighted, but Hubert wondered how elated they’d be if they had been there in person. Fhirdiad, and all the poor civilians inside, had been utterly demolished by Rhea.

The play ended with no mention of the Agarthans and ensuing fight against them. Edelgard died tragically of her broken heart, a virgin empress of unparalleled purity. Caspar was carried romantically by Byleth back to Garreg Mach to rebuild the beloved school, and Linhardt was brought along because he fell asleep on top of their luggage. Bernadetta turned into some sort of bow wielding vigilante while Petra declared Brigid free. Dorothea, played by someone who utterly paled in comparison to the real thing and was honestly barely in the opera, confessed her dream to return to her true love, the stage. Hubert and Ferdinand ended up the best of friends with such strong romantic undertones that the two real friends turned bright red upon making eye contact during their steamy final number.

Bernadetta pumped her fist as they stood outside of Dorothea’s dressing room, “I think my character progression was _excellent_.”

Ferdinand looked at Hubert, “Hm, well, now I understand some of the comments in the newspaper about us a bit more.”

Hubert teasingly wrapped his arm around Ferdinand, “Well, at least they recognized I’m the top and you’re the bottom.”

Ferdinand shook him off, “Surely we would trade places, to keep things fair.”

Hubert playfully pinched at Ferdinand’s ass, “Anything for you my dear.”

Bernadetta scowled, “Stop talking about fucking my husband.”

“Fucking? I’m talking about making love to him,” Hubert said correcting her. Bernadetta sighed with exasperation. She was too easy to mess with.

Hubert wished Dorothea would hurry up and finish changing so they could get out of the theater. He was almost sure he’d heard a few ‘boos’ directed at him. Dorothea did not disappoint. She was still over the top in the way she dressed and spoke, “Hubie! Ferdie! It’s been too long!” She put them both into headlocks as she embraced them. “Bernie,” she cooed as she kissed Ferdinand’s wife a little too intimately. It was like for a moment they were back in school. Then Dorothea shattered that moment by beginning to fawn over the tiny portrait of Ferdinand and Bernadetta’s newest baby, and Hubert remembered that they were quite a bit older now than when they’d first met.

Hubert hung against the wall while Ferdinand and Bernadetta filled Dorothea in on how young Ferdinand Jr. was handling being six months old. Hubert much preferred the von Aegir’s older child, their daughter Florence, whom he was diligently training in chess and sarcasm. He liked babies just fine, but there was something about little Ferdie that Hubert found a little too reminiscent of Ferdinand and it was hard to get along with that baby!

Hubert could see that Dorothea’s dressing room was made all the smaller by the heaps of roses she’d received. He’d sent her a special one, just a stem, with a note reading _“Just thorns on this rose,”_ that he hadn’t signed. He’d thought it clever a few hours ago, but now he wondered if maybe he’d gone too far with the joke. Perhaps he should have just sent her a standard bouquet and signed with his name like a normal person.

“Come on, where are we eating? I’m starving!” announced Dorothea as she clapped her hands together.

They walked from the opera house out into the night. Dorothea linked arms with Hubert as they strolled towards the restaurant. “You’ll have to catch me up on what you’ve been up to while I’ve been on tour.”

Hubert had been systematically routing out Fodlan’s remaining Agarthans and rebuilding the infrastructure of the empire’s intelligence from the ground up. “Nothing special,” he assured her.

“I was surprised when I heard you invested in the opera company,” admitted Dorothea. “It was very generous, I didn’t realize how much you liked opera.”

Hubert would have to ask Fritz just how much was spent, “Patronizing the arts is important.”

“There’s always a big party when the show closes, all the big investors are invited, it’ll be nice to have one of them actually know me, not just their idea of me,” mused Dorothea. She giggled, “The director of the show is very nervous to meet you after how the show portrayed you.”

“Good,” said Hubert. “Did the writers ask you at all your thoughts on their, _embellishments_?”

“Oh I told them, but who’s going to listen to a singer?” She paused as they got to the restaurant, “Oh wow, how did you possibly get a reservation here?”

“I own it,” said Hubert casually. It just happened to be the most popular restaurant in Enbarr at the moment because of a few well placed bribes with some food critics.

Dorothea looked at him as if he were joking, then realized he was serious. “You’re in the restaurant business too?”

“I’m in the information business,” said Hubert cryptically. “Over wine, people talk. And they pay little attention to the wait staff.” He took her coat, “Plus I like the food.”

Hubert had his own private booth in the back. Dorothea told them all about the back to back tours she’d been on and the all the places she’d seen.

“Petra hosted me in Brigid, it was amazing,” she said. “Her children are adorable. And the beaches there, ah, even you would like it Hubie.”

Hubert’s mind had drifted to the one and only time he’d ever gone to Brigid. Bernadetta had been ambushed in that fight, and Hubert had almost lost his life. It had been one of the worse battles they fought. It had also been when he and Petra had broken up. While he was long since past that hurt, he didn’t need to hear about her adorable children with that idiot she’d gone and married after the war. He scratched at an old scar and realized Dorothea was trying to ask him a question.

“Sorry,” he said as he poured himself more wine, “I was thinking about Brigid during the war, what were you asking?”

Dorothea smiled sadly, “I get that way sometimes too. During rehearsals I was missing my cues because I’d get so lost in what had actually happened.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s been ten years,” said Bernadetta quietly.

Ferdinand wrapped his arm around her, “We’ll be hosting a little reunion at our place in a couple months. We’re inviting everyone.”

“Oh we haven’t all gotten together in so long,” reminisced Dorothea as the food arrived. “I guess it’s been,” she paused suddenly subdued, “Three years.”

The last time they had all been together was Edelgard’s funeral. Ferdinand had delivered a beautiful eulogy. Hubert had spent the funeral alone watching from a distance, and hadn’t attended the burial. He had a breakdown in the wake of her death, and hadn’t really been mentally present for that reunion.

The conversation continued long past dessert until finally Bernadetta was nearly sleeping at the table, “I think it’s time we left,” said Ferdinand wisely.

Hubert turned to Dorothea, “I’ll walk you back, where are you staying these days?”

“Oh downtown, near the opera house, it’s fine I can get myself back,” said Dorothea with a laugh. She wagged her fingers at him playfully, “I remember all my battlefield spells, don’t worry.”

“I’m heading that way anyway, it’s not a problem,” said Hubert as he paid the bill.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said as they returned into the night.

“Of course, thank you for accepting, I’m sure you had plenty of opening night invitations,”

“Ah well it’s not like when I was a teenager, and I’m a little wiser now in the company I keep,” she said with a sigh. “I learned to take good friends over new ones.”

Dorothea slowed as they reached the back entrance of the theater, “Well I’m good from here.”

Hubert looked at the dark opera house, “Dorothea, you’re not,” he paused, “You’re not living here right?”

“I’m just between places right now,” said Dorothea with slight embarrassment. “There wasn’t any time to look for a place after coming back from tour and starting the next show.”

Hubert glanced dubiously at a brick that was currently propping open the back entrance to the theater, “It’s not particularly secure.”

“It’s fine, thank you for walking me home,” said Dorothea firmly.

Hubert had seen her cramped dressing room, and he could only imagine what the bathroom situation was like. “Dorothea, I keep an apartment here in the city with a guest room. You can just stay there until you find a place.”

Dorothea flushed, “I can’t live with you.”

“You can’t live here,” retorted Hubert. “Does your dressing room even have a lock?”

“I put a chair in front of the door,” protested Dorothea.

“No,” said Hubert. “Come on, get your things, I insist.”

Dorothea grumbled and sighed to voice her protest, but led the way in the dark back to her dressing room to pack a bag. Hubert carried it despite her continuous protests.

His apartment in the city was an unassuming building that looked out towards the brilliantly lit palace. In the years following the war the imperial palace had been converted into a proper parliamentary building. It was completely changed from his childhood, and all vestiges of the old imperial family had been scrubbed away and replaced with Edelgard’s vision of a new Fodlan.

The doorman sprung up as the two of them neared, “Lord Vestra, good evening, or good morning?”

Hubert nodded to the doorman, “Haverford, good to see you. This Ms. Arnault, my guest. She’ll be using the penthouse while she’s visiting Enbarr.”

Mr. Haverford looked at Dorothea, “Ms. Arnault, the singer?” He bowed to her with a quick fluster. “I walk past the marquee for your show every morning. I’ve heard the tickets are sold out for months!”

“Well, if there’s a night you wish to take your wife, drop a note in my mailbox for Fritz, he’ll get you the tickets,” offered Hubert. Hubert had far more tickets than he knew what to do with.

“Oh, Lord Vestra, that’s too generous,”

“Please, consider it a holiday gift,” insisted Hubert as he led Dorothea inside. It was near the start of the new year in Great Tree Moon, and everyone was in a festive mood.

“You have a penthouse,” she hissed as Haverford unlocked the private elevator.

“I don’t like having upstairs neighbors,” shrugged Hubert as they went up to the sixth floor. He declined to mention that he owned the whole building and there weren’t any neighbors, just him and assorted offices belonging to the Ministry of Whispers. Haverford was more than a night doorman, he was a seasoned killer that ensured this was the safest safe house in Enbarr. Dorothea did not need to know that at all.

Hubert turned on the lights. Dorothea looked at the bulbs, “I stayed at a hotel once with electric in Derdriu.”

“It took four years to convert the whole palace. It makes a huge difference at night,” said Hubert as he opened the pantry. Ferdinand pushed for educational reform while Hubert pushed for technological improvements for the masses.

He didn’t stay here at the apartment often enough to keep much on hand, and his pantry was pitifully stocked. There was a bottle of wine and some embarrassingly stale crackers. “I’ll have my cook here in the city make sure to come by tomorrow.” He opened the door to the guest room, “Here’s the room, the bath is down the hall.” He found the spare keys for her, “And there you have it, feel free to come and go as you need. My maid comes by at noon, I’ll leave a note so that she learns to accommodate your schedule. I realize mine is quite odd.” He paused at the door, “Do you have any questions before I go?”

Dorothea spun around to face him, “You’re leaving?”

“My carriage is waiting,” said Hubert. “I usually only stay in the city when I have an early morning meeting the next day or if the weather’s bad. I’ll try to give you a few days notice if I plan to sleep here.”

Dorothea looked at the large windows and the glittering view of parliament, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” said Hubert. “I’ll have one of my men fetch your trunk in the morning.” He felt much better knowing she was somewhere safe rather than in that shaky opera house.

***

Dorothea looked at the bathroom realizing that it alone was larger than her dressing room. “Ridiculous,” she whispered as she turned on the hot water. “Electric, modern plumbing, seems I’m a long way from home.” Enbarr had started to transform in her absence. She still recognized it but was amazed by how modern things were becoming after the war.

She’d been visiting the public bath house near the opera for the last few weeks, and it was freeing to finally have some privacy. Hubert’s scant toiletries left much to be desired, but she had just enough of her favorite lavender soap to have a proper bubble bath. She sank into the massive clawfoot tub and giggled as she imagined Hubert taking a bubble bath. He had calmed down quite a bit since the war but she imagined that he was still a serious short cold shower type. So efficient.

She wandered through the penthouse in her robe filled with curiosity as she let her hair dry. It was scantly furnished and there wasn’t a single piece of art in the place. She believed him when he said all he did was sleep here. There was one picture on the wall — a drawing of them all after a battle. She touched the frame fondly remembering how lucky they had all felt to be alive after each big fight. Some of them looked happy; for Ferdinand, Petra, Caspar and Byleth smiling came easily. Her own expression struck her as forced. The others, Linhardt, Hubert, and Bernadetta were stony faced. Edelgard was not looking at the artist, no doubt distracted by whatever responsibility she was putting off to be in the picture. They were all covered in dirt and blood, they were bandaged and bruised, but at least they had survived. She looked at the younger version of herself in the picture, perhaps she was twenty or twenty one there, who had no idea that Edelgard was going to sweep her off her feet and then drop her.

**Flashback, Imperial War Camp, 1182**

Dorothea was singing as she did her laundry in the camp. She had let the chore go till the last minute as usual and now she was nearly out of clothes. She never expected the Emperor to clear her throat to announce her presence behind her.

“Edie! Hi, uh,” Dorothea was very embarrassed as she stood in her pale blue undershirt and her school uniform skirt. It was literally the only clean clothes she had at the moment. “I’m just, you know, doing some laundry.” She had felt very silly talking to the Emperor about laundry. Edie had Hubert to take care of stuff like that for her.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you singing, what was that song? It was very nice,”

Dorothea turned the most violent shade of red she was capable of, “Uh, it’s a song I’m writing,” Dorothea paused and stared at Edie, “It’s about you.”

“Me? You’re writing a song about me?” Edie had been completely caught off guard.

“I just find you really inspiring, and it makes me want to sing?” She wondered if she could just jump in the laundry vat and disappear.

“Well I would like to hear it, when you’re finished writing it that is,” said Edelgard in her very serious manner. “Maybe in my tent.”

“Oh, of course!” said Dorothea, stunned at the invitation.

Dorothea sighed at the memories. She paused by the closed door, beyond which was surely Hubert’s bedroom. She wondered if that’s where he was hiding all the personality of this place. She let the door creak open, and then she pushed her way inside when no traps went off. It was similarly plain but Dorothea was shocked by the sheer number of pillows on the bed. It had a rich lovely mattress topper and the duvet was the softest thing she’d ever felt. This was not at all what she would expect him to like sleeping in and she was in all honesty kind of jealous having seen the guest room. Dorothea walked over and helped herself to a pillow or three.

She paused at his dresser and saw some framed charcoal drawings. Her eyes traced over a picture of a very striking woman that she supposed might be Hubert’s mother. Then to her shock and awe there was a little portrait of a toddler Hubert. “You were a baby once after all,” she mused to herself as she giggled at his plump cheeks and soft features. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw an official portrait of Edelgard. Dorothea missed Edie, but Edie had also broken her heart and so to see her face now was a sudden little prick of pain she thought she was long over. Dorothea sighed and decided she had invaded Hubert’s privacy enough and went back to her room to unpack her things.

**Flashback, Imperial War Camp, 1184**

“I don’t think this is right,” whispered Edelgard reluctantly.

Dorothea set down her tea cup and pursed her lips, “We don’t have to drink this blend, we could try—”

“Not the tea Dorothea,” sighed Edelgard. “I’m speaking about us.”

Dorothea swallowed uncertainly, “I don’t think I understand.”

“I’m not being fair to you, I’m afraid I’m hurting you,” whispered Edelgard. “I threw you into a complicated world without any kind of prep, and I don’t think I can give you what you want.”

“I only want you,” whispered Dorothea feeling a tightness in her chest.

“I know. But, you also want someone to take care of you, and love you for the rest of your life,”

“Everyone wants that,” said Dorothea sheepishly.

Edelgard looked at her with great sadness in her eyes, “I’m not going to be able to be that person. I won’t be around when you get old.”

“What are you talking about?”

Edelgard shut her eyes and flared her nostrils. She was intensely private; she had let Dorothea in on some things, but there was so much more left unsaid, “You know things happened to me when I was young. I was given a crest, and that is going to inevitably shorten my life.”

Dorothea swallowed as she processed the information, “What do we do to fix it?”

Edelgard smiled sadly and shook her head, “No Dorothea, there isn’t a fix.”

“I won’t accept that,” stammered Dorothea. Edelgard was the Emperor, of course there would be a fix to save her.

“It’s going to happen if you accept it or not, and I will rest much easier if I know you have someone that can give you the happiness you deserve, for the rest of your life.”

“But I love you,” whispered Dorothea as she began to cry.

“I know,” said Edelgard. Not ‘I love you too’, just an ‘I know’ and no tears.


	2. Patron of the Arts

Hubert didn’t have to work hard to find an excuse to stay in the city. Ferdinand loved scheduling early morning cabinet meetings, much to Hubert’s disdain. He normally got up right before dawn, but Hubert commuted by horse — his dear Ruin II — so there was no way he could make it to Enbarr for a 7 am meeting and Ferdinand knew it. He swore sometimes Ferdinand did this just so Hubert was forced to stay in the city and visit Ferdinand’s house for dinner and the worst, work out with him. Ferdinand had convinced Hubert to add regular training back into his life, of which the benefits were very clear, but Hubert preferred solitary activities like jogging through parks or weight lifting, not Ferdinand’s crazy complicated routine that involved sparring and Ferdinand talking the whole time. The differences were undeniable, Ferdinand still had the body of a marble statue at 33 while Hubert looked like a much cheaper statue that an apprentice had made a bunch of mistakes on, but Ferdinand had looked like that since his teens and had never stopped looking amazing. Hubert always had to remind himself that just a few years ago he had been essentially a skeleton with skin so he looked as good as he could all things considered.

He found himself excited to catch up with Dorothea. She worked most nights but always had Mondays and Tuesdays off. When she wasn’t at the opera she was doing smaller engagements at clubs, although it was hard to figure out where. Enbarr had a lot of venues these days and Dorothea always got a little dodgy when asked where she was singing or how she was spending most evenings. It wasn’t any of Hubert’s business, although Haverford reported that she went out most nights and often came back extremely late.

Therefore, Hubert was pleasantly surprised when she accepted his offer for dinner. When he stayed in the city he generally got take-away from his restaurant because he preferred the quiet of home to the bustle of public spaces. He also ate really slow because of old injuries to his abdomen and it was just easier that way. The hostess seemed genuinely excited for him that he was picking up two meals instead of his usual one.

After dinner they sat enjoying a night cap. He hadn’t drank during the war or it’s immediate aftermath but now he allowed himself a drink a two now and again. “Is this a suitable upgrade from your dressing room?” Hubert could not help but tease Dorothea.

“Well, the bathroom is without parallel, and the bed is very comfortable. But,” started Dorothea.

“What? Is it that you sometimes have an ill tempered roommate?”

“He’s tolerable. No, this place is too blank. You need _something_ , I’ve seen apartments men keep for secret affairs with more personality,” said Dorothea as she looked into the empty space.

“Do you go to many of those?” Asked Hubert sarcastically.

Dorothea blushed and drank her wine, declining to respond. Hubert glanced at the empty mantle, “You have more ideas than I do, what if you just decorated it?”

Dorothea rolled her eyes, “I have to work. I don’t have time to play housewife. And anyway, I don’t know what your tastes are.”

“I clearly don’t have any,” said Hubert as he gestured at the empty walls. “I don’t even know where I would begin.” Decor had never been his strong suit.

“Some throw pillows,” suggested Dorothea, “A comfortable chair.” She mimed putting her glass down, “Perhaps a coffee table?” She looked around the walls, “You’re a patron of the arts now, maybe you should find some artists to support.”

“I’ll just send Fritz out—” started Hubert. Fritz would hate this but approached every task Hubert gave him with extreme gusto.

“No, you need to have some input, your place should reflect who you are,” insisted Dorothea.

He felt a small smile on his face, she always had so many secret rules that had to be followed. Hubert chuckled, “It does reflect me, big, and empty inside. It’s perfect.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “We’ll go to a gallery, I know artists, I’ll find out who’s showing. You don’t have to buy the first thing you see, take your time to figure out what you like.”

**Flashback, the Hresvelg Private Estate, Outside Enbarr, 1190**

“I think I’d like the chaise lounge over here,” mused Edelgard as she pointed to the spot. The movers were quick to relocate it. She wasn’t officially the Emperor any more but she was still very clearly in charge, especially when it came to arranging the furniture in her house. She wasn’t dressed like an Emperor either. Edelgard was wearing loose plain clothes, a rather masculine little get up that she somehow transformed into the appropriate level of femininity, that were made in linen. It wasn’t as hot here as in Enbarr, but this was still summer. They were going to have her birthday party here for close friends later in the week. She was very excited for everyone to see the house and was racing to get it all decorated in time.

Hubert found the estate a little too large and grand, but perfectly appropriate in scale for a former leader of state. He was just happy to be here with her, he didn’t have very many opinions of what it should look like. He watched her go and sit on the long chair and nod as if to say, “Yes the emperor is satisfied.”

“Hubert, when are your things arriving?”

“They’re already here,” said Hubert as he looked towards the hall that led to their bedrooms. She’d insisted he take the one next to hers, which was a little forward. It was probably improper, but it reminded him of being in Garreg Mach when they’d only had a wall between them. It was nice to be so close that year, rather than floors apart like when growing up.

“Really, that’s all you’re bringing?” Edelgard had crossed her arms.

“That’s all I have,” said Hubert as he thought about his belongings. There weren’t many. He had some drawings by his father, his only childhood toy, some old plays that he still liked paging through. His cello was presently sitting in the living room, begging to be practiced after years of being ignored. Other than clothes, he didn’t keep much in the way of possessions. Things were prone to getting lost, misplaced, or broken, so it was easier to hold on to just a few precious items. If one had very little around them, such as people, they could focus on what they had better.

“But what about all the research from Lysithea, the dark seals,” started Edelgard referring to the passed mage’s life work that Hubert had inherited.

“That’s work, I don’t want that here. Besides, I let Hanneman take over most of that,” said Hubert indifferently. If he was being honest, it hurt to read over Lysithea’s precise notes. Over time her handwriting had gotten shaky. Her mind had stayed painfully sharp and clear but her body had started to disobey her. He was done working on the unsolvable two crest problem, he was here to take care of Edelgard. He wouldn’t bring that evil cloud of darkness into her home.

She rearranged the pillows on the lounge chair, “Hmm, well, I think I want to cut my hair for the party.”

“Oh, what are you thinking?” Hubert finished brewing up her tea. She’d had her hair long since she was young.

“I want it short, very short,” she announced. She wasn’t going to say it, but her hair was falling out and it would be much easier to manage if it was chin length rather than down her lower back. She also vomited more than ever and long hair had a tendency of getting in the way.

“I’ll hire a hairdresser,” said Hubert as he passed her the tea cup.

“I’d like you to cut it,” said Edelgard.

He had always helped with preparing her braids and updos, but he had never put a blade to her. “Are you sure?”

“Hubert I wasn’t joking when I asked you to be here, and you alone, I’d like us to help each other with everything,” said Edelgard as she sipped the tea. “I figured we could take a couple cooking lessons, some gardening classes. You know I really would like there to be as few people bothering me as possible.”

“Of course,” said Hubert, honored to be one of the precious few people who she did not consider a bother. “But, maybe don’t fire the cook just yet.”

“What I make a wonderful omelet—” protested Edelgard as she stood up boldly as if to declare war on her kitchen next.

“I’m sorry your majesty, but your omelets are truly terrible,” admitted Hubert with a smirk. “But so are mine, so I guess we’ll have to learn together so we don’t starve.”

“Speaking of starving, shall we do a picnic up on the hill?” Edelgard clapped her hands and Hubert went to fetch the basket.

***

Shopping with Hubert was a chore. He didn’t have many opinions on decor and Dorothea was ending up doing the exact thing she had said she wouldn’t, she was picking everything out. She’d found a replacement for his couch that was actually comfortable, and a very handsome armchair that made him sincerely smile when he sat in it. Picking out pillows was easy from there.

“At least let me know your favorite color so there’s something you like,” demanded Dorothea. She prepared herself for the answer, _black_.

“Dark green,” said Hubert.

Dorothea snorted, that answer was basically black. “Then we’ll focus on jewel tones, emeralds, mustard, ruby, maybe some violet, oh, and deep teal.”

“Why don’t you just say green, yellow, red?” asked Hubert as he picked up a strange object at the antique shop.

Dorothea thought it looked like a torture device. “Put that down, you’re not buying that. And colors are more complicated than you’re giving them credit for. You want them to harmonize, not clash.”

“That’s why I stick with black and white,”

“Even those come in warm and cool tones,” said Dorothea rolling her eyes. He was hopeless. No wonder he wore all black all the time. She took him by the arm and led him away from the questionable curio cabinet filled with creepy artifacts from Morfis. “I think you have enough furniture that you could actually invite people over now and they would be able to sit. Maybe you could give Bernie and Ferdie a break from always hosting?”

“Ferdinand likes being the center of attention,” said Hubert with a shrug. “And anyway, how can I get away from people at the end of the night if they’re still in my apartment?”

“You’re the worst,” grumbled Dorothea. “That’s why you invite people you like so you don’t mind that they’re there.”

“The two people I like have a baby, they don’t really go out much,” said Hubert moodily.

“Surely you have other friends,” said Dorothea.

Hubert looked at her, “You’re here now. That’s enough friends for me.”

“Shouldn’t you be courting someone? Have you ever considered getting married?” As soon as she said it she wished she hadn’t. Of course Hubert had almost married Petra until it became clear that he could not bring himself to elevate her above his duties. Petra was now married to Claude, and living very happily ever after. Ten years out from that break up Hubert was still alone, likely more than ever now that Edie had passed.

Hubert was picking up a particularly strange vase, “I was married, but it didn’t work out.”

Dorothea felt her jaw drop, “You were married, what, to who? When!”

Hubert put the vase down. Perhaps he was learning to discern good looking decor from bad. “It doesn’t matter, it didn’t, maybe couldn’t, last,” his voice trailed off as he moved onto the next horrible looking item.

Dorothea decided to switch the subject deftly away from what she sensed was a very painful secret for him. “You know you’ve earned yourself quite the reputation,” said Dorothea. She was always keen to know gossip about her friends but things that she had learned about Hubert were far more salacious than she’d ever anticipated.

“What have you heard?” He almost sounded amused.

She wasn’t trying to be funny; she had heard truly terrible things about the shadowy Lord Vestra and his affairs. “People talk. They say that you’re generous in many ways, but your heart is cold. I’ve heard you’ll seduce a married woman just to get blackmail on her husband.”

Hubert bit his lip, “I also seduce husbands for blackmail on their wives. I’ve even seduced a couple together. But, it’s not all about blackmail, sometimes I just like the way they look.”

“You’re really seducing men now too?” For someone who had socially fumbled his way through Garreg Mach and had only lost his virginity finally because Dorothea took pity on him when it looked like his father might actually try to kill him in a duel, Hubert had come quite a long way.

Hubert shrugged, “It’s just sex, it doesn’t really matter who it’s with.” He was very different from who he’d been at 20, but Dorothea supposed so was she.

Dorothea rolled her eyes, “You’re terrible.”

“You have no idea,” he said softly. He stopped dead in his tracks and pointed at a Pegasus sculpture made from a black and gray marble, “I’m buying that.” He actually seemed excited to get it.

Dorothea pinched the bridge of her nose as she decided not to talk him out of it. If there was one thing Hubert loved it was pegasi. They continued down the high street on their way to the gallery that Dorothea had located. It was an old friend, or lover rather, who was showing his art this month. He did beautiful portraits but his real passion was depictions of battle magic. Dorothea had met him not long after the end of the war; their affair had been passionate and intense but unfortunately two artists together did not make enough to always keep the heat on. The sporadic nature of their work had meant many lean times and eventually the fights over money had driven them apart. She stopped dating artists after that.

Dorothea pushed Hubert to the left, “Explore, appreciate, find something that goes with that silly pegasus statue you had to have.” She went right. She didn’t want to have her first re-encounter with an old flame to be with Hubert hanging over her shoulder. She pushed up her breasts and fixed her hair before casually strolling. She had no desire to get back together with Siggurd, but she did want him to feel just a tinge of regret for having parted ways with her. Manuela’s romance advice rang in her ears, _“Darling, always make them regret leaving, but don’t ever let them back in or you’ll regret it too!”_

She was impressed by how much his work had improved in the last nine years. She had heard he was getting more commissions than he could take these days. She found herself getting absorbed into his depictions of battle scenes. Siggurd had followed them during the war, documenting everything for posterity. She wondered where Hubert had gotten to, this was exactly the kind of thing he would probably enjoy. She continued to walk until she turned a corner to see a massive painting that could not be missed came into her view. Siggurd was standing beside it.

Dorothea’s heart sank as she looked at the huge oil painting. It was a study of a naked woman from behind draped with a length of red satin. Her face was largely obscured, with just a sliver of her cheek visible as her face turned to glance over her shoulder. Adorning her head like a halo was the faint impression of a black magic circle. Her back was completely exposed, revealing the three long scars that traced down her back from a vicious Sagittae attack courtesy of one Annette Dominic. The painting wasn’t explicit, but it was incredibly intimate.

Dorothea was wearing the same earrings she had been when she posed for the painting so many years ago. She stared at the painting feeling the weight of youthful inhibitions bearing down on her. She had been young and in love, of course she had posed for it without thinking about the ramifications of a big nude portrait of herself existing. It wasn’t like it was the first time someone had used her as a figure model.

**Flashback Imperial War Camp 1182**

Dorothea reclined in the chaise lounge idly. She was a little chilly and it showed in her nipples which was kind of funny but also getting old.

Edelgard’s brow was furrowed as she sketched. She always looked fierce and intense when she was concentrating, whether it was in battle or in the bedroom. Right now she had asked if she could draw Dorothea, nude. Dorothea was flattered and had stripped way too fast for the Emperor to handle.

“Everything okay Edie?” teased Dorothea.

“Uh,” said Edelgard as she erased hurriedly, “I’m trying to get the curve of your breast correct.” She seemed a little flustered. “They’re perfect, I want this to be perfect too.”

“Can I see?”

Edelgard got as red as her dress and timidly turned the sketch around. It was, well, Edie was a politician not an artist! Dorothea smiled anyway, “I think it looks great.” She jokingly shifted her breast so it looked almost as lopsided as the drawling, “See, you nailed it!” She got up and came over to the Emperor, “Maybe I can draw you next.”

Edelgard froze up and looked at Dorothea almost frightened. Then she shook her head, “I do not think that is wise. I have some, scars, it’s not something that’s fit to be sketched.”

“Nonsense, every inch of you should be celebrated,” said Dorothea as she got down to her knees and pushed up the Emperor’s skirts to expose her legs. Edelgard had touched Dorothea, but the Emperor had yet to permit Dorothea to return the favor. “Please, let me celebrate you.”

Edelgard was trembling as Dorothea’s sensual kisses traced up her inner thigh towards that forbidden area Dorothea so desperately wanted to see and kiss. Edelgard wasn’t kidding when she said she had a lot of scars. They got worse as Dorothea got closer to her destination.

The Emperor carefully stopped Dorothea, “I’m not ready yet for you to see me. I’m afraid I do not have the courage, yet.” It was clear the words were incredibly hard to say. Edelgard feared nothing, but apparently she was afraid for Dorothea to see her naked.

Dorothea pulled back and smiled, “Then I’ll be waiting for you.”

Then Hubert had come in the tent with some urgent missive and ruined the moment. Edelgard got flustered because he should have knocked, he was flustered because there weren’t doors to knock on in a war camp, and Dorothea had pulled on her clothes while the two most awkward people she knew started to work out how they were going to handle this new aspect of the Imperial Household. Edelgard had been madly in lust with the professor but had never actually done anything more than kiss her. Now lord and retainer were crossing into a very scary new territory for them both. Dorothea was used to spontaneity, but nothing got to be spontaneous with Edelgard. Every minute had to be planned and plotted in advance, and goddess forbid they try to cuddle for a few extra minutes.

“You said you wouldn’t sell this, that this one was just for you,” whispered Dorothea as she got up to Siggurd and the massive portrait of herself.

Siggurd sighed, “Unsold art doesn’t put food on my table. And besides, my wife hates it.”

Dorothea looked out at the people milling around the gallery, “At least let me make an offer.” She knew she could not afford it, but perhaps he would cut her a deal given the circumstances. It was after all her naked self on display.

“It’s already been sold,” said Siggurd.

“Tell me who bought it,” demanded Dorothea, mortified.

“And risk you harassing one of my customers, no,” said Siggurd. He clearly remembered her at little too well.

Dorothea felt her stomach sinking as she contemplated the very intimate portrait hanging on a stranger’s wall. It made her feel ill and she wanted to get as far away from the gallery as possible lest the buyer recognize her.

She found Hubert around by some paintings of eagles, “Come on, we’re leaving.”

Hubert looked at her with concern, “Are you alright?”

“Honestly, no, but I don’t want to discuss it here,”

“This is about the painting,” said Hubert.

She shut her eyes, of course he had seen it. It was impossible to miss with how large it was. “I was told that wouldn’t be put for sale when I posed for it. Now apparently it’s already sold.”

“I bought it,” said Hubert as if it were a perfectly normal thing to purchase.

Dorothea made a disgusted face, “You can’t hang a naked portrait of me in your living room.”

Hubert’s eyes bulged for a moment, “No, I bought it for you so you can decide what happens to it. It’s definitely not going up in my living room.”

“You can’t buy me a gift that expensive,” protested Dorothea.

“I already did,” said Hubert. He looked around the gallery. “I don’t know much about art, but I don’t think I can just return it. If you really won’t accept it, I’ll,” he paused uncertainly. “I’ll hang it in a closet or a bathroom, somewhere obscure.”

“You can’t put that in a bathroom,” said Dorothea, offended by the notion.

“Would you prefer I put it in my bedroom?” challenged Hubert.

Dorothea blanched at the thought. She fumed as she folded her arms, “You wouldn’t buy a naked portrait of Ferdinand.”

“Oh, you underestimate me, I most certainly would, and I would hang it behind my desk at Parliament so he’d have to look at it every time he came in to bother me about something,” said Hubert.

Dorothea was still upset, but the idea did make her want to laugh. Hubert looked at the portraits with a scheming look in his eyes, “Actually, I could probably commission one—”

“I don’t think Bernadetta would ever forgive you,” said Dorothea as she pulled him out of the gallery before he could make another purchase.

“Well if I got one for her as well she might,” teased Hubert. Dorothea sincerely hoped that was not to be poor Bernadetta’s Adrestia Day gift this year. “Think about, Ferdinand, naked, sitting on great big war horse. That glorious long hair he had during the war whipping in the wind.”

Dorothea groaned as the image forced its way into her mind, “Stop, _please_.”


	3. Just Roommates

**Flashback, the Hresvelg Private Estate, Outside Enbarr, 1190**

“Hubert,” Edelgard’s teary voiced whispered through the darkness. “May I have my spot back?”

Hubert shifted in surprise at Edelgard in his room for the first time in so many years, waking him from sleep. He immediately complied and lifted up his left arm so that she could snuggle in and rest her head against ‘her spot’ on him. It had started nicely when they were children watching clouds to pass afternoons. Hubert was a vassal, so Hubert could also be ordered to be a pillow because the ground was way too hard. His father was not happy because it was improper, but the little princess was happy, so Hubert found a compromise and adjusted her away from her most favorite spot, his soft warm stomach, and up towards his face and away from his privates.

After the experiments, when the nightmares were so fresh and new, and Hubert would sneak into her room and let her rest on her spot on him so she would not be afraid. She felt safer in his arms. He couldn’t protect her from the Slithers but he could protect her from the memories of them.

She was sniffling as she dried her eyes on her sleeve, “When did you stop wearing a shirt to bed?”

“I can start again if it makes you more comfortable,” offered Hubert. He had no idea when he stopped, probably when he started regularly sharing a bed with a lover. He liked skin on skin contact, but these days that kind of romantic intimacy was a distant memory. He’d come to terms with the idea that it wasn’t something he was going to get: every time someone got too close he found some way to drive them away. Edelgard was different, she had a spot on him that would always be hers if she wanted it.

“No it’s fine, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” said Edelgard as if realizing that they weren’t children or even teenagers any more and that this was strange behavior for two adults that were just friends. He was a thirty year old man putting his own life in its prime during peace time on complete hold for her to help to ease her transition towards death. For him, this was how it always was, she first, and he a distant second on his own list of priorities.

Hubert held her a little closer and promised, “Nothing you can do will ever make me uncomfortable.”

Their friends were all getting married, having babies, and traveling the world, while Edelgard and Hubert were waiting for the end.

Dorothea had settled into a comfortable routine. She woke up at noon, sometimes took tea with Bernadetta at the von Aegir’s Enbarr town home, and then performed four nights a week. The apartment was more livable now that it actually had some nice furniture and most weeks she had the whole place completely to herself. There was a maid that did the cleaning and a cook that stopped by to stock the pantry every couple days. They were both super pleasant, loved Hubert as their boss, and were very welcoming. The only glaring issue was Hubert’s extremely annoying assistant Fritz who stopped by every day to check the mail and often checked in on her. He’d make small comments if anything was at all off from his opinion of what Hubert liked.

“You should not leave your shoes here,” insisted Fritz, “Lord Vestra might trip on his way in.”

Fritz had caught her stealing pillows, “Lord Vestra must have six pillows on his bed, not three. Put them back.” Once she had returned them Fritz added, “You really should not be in his bedroom, it’s improper!”

Dorothea had stared at Fritz with all the annoyance she could muster, “You realize I’ve known Hubert for fifteen years, you really think we’ve never slept together?”

Fritz blanched, maybe he had a big old crush on his boss with the way he worshiped him, “That is none of my business Ms. Arnault.”

“No it’s not, so don’t worry if I’m in his bedroom or not,” snapped Dorothea. She was totally stealing those pillows back the moment Fritz left.

“Well it will become my business if you play around with Lord Vestra’s heart,” warned Fritz. “If you break it, I will break you.”

“Are you seriously threatening me you, you beanpole?” Dorothea was incensed by the lurking weird assistant. He seemed to fancy himself threatening but she’d fought in a war while he was probably a voice-cracking pimply faced primary school boy. She’d drop him quicker than a bad boyfriend if he dared to try anything.

“I’m just warning you,” snipped Fritz as he got flustered.

When she told Hubert about it later he was extremely apologetic. “Fritz is just very, devoted,” explained Hubert. “He thinks he’s looking out for me, I’ll talk to him.”

“Please do, I mean he accused me of pillow theft—”

“You are a pillow thief,” smirked Hubert.

“Well why on earth do you need so many?”

“It’s a big bed, a bunch of pillows make it feel less empty,” blurted out Hubert to both their embarrassment. It was the same reason she kept stealing so many for the guest room’s equally large bed.

She had offered to pay rent, but Hubert had refused, and so Dorothea actually had some meaningful disposable income for the first time in a long time. She had treated herself to a fine array of bubble bath soap to truly take advantage of the penthouse’s epic tub. Dorothea would rent the bathroom alone it was so amazing.

Having an occasional roommate did lead to some awkward run-ins like when Dorothea had been starting a particular foamy bubble bath to unwind after three back to back nights of performing as Edelgard. That stupid wig and crown were really heavy even though they were just props, and Dorothea deserved a nice soak to relax. She assumed she’d be alone for the evening. Hubert came into the apartment and barged into the bathroom because the door wasn’t totally shut and proceeded to apologize but not leave. He had a big gash on his cheek that he explained away as ‘ _work related_ ’ as he cleaned it and got out his suture kit.

“What the hell are you doing at work?” He was a Minister, not some field agent as far as she knew. It was late in night, _what the fuck Hubert._

“Hunting enemies of the empire,” he growled. It was just like him to be dramatic about it.

“Why don’t you just let me heal you?” demanded Dorothea.

He looked at her as if just realizing in that moment that she was sitting in his massive bathtub, “I-I don’t want to ruin your relaxation.”

“Really, because you most certainly have!” snapped Dorothea as she gestured him over to the tub. He averted his gaze even though he had seen it all before. Dorothea rolled her eyes and practically slapped the healing spell across his face. She shooed him out, “Get out!” She learned to lock the bathroom door after that.

Things were quite nice otherwise, yet as Garland Moon came upon them it was transitioning into high summer and Enbarr was getting hot. The opera would soon be dropping down to one show a week since soon as most of their audience would flee to the coast to beat the heat, and then she would have to figure out how she was going to afford to live through the summer when the shows were thin. She performed at some rather unsavory clubs for extra income, but she was loathe to do any more nights a week than she was already.

She had all the windows open in the penthouse and it still managed to be hot. Hubert had arrived with his small overnight bag and dinner for them from his restaurant. Dorothea had somehow grown fond of when he would have morning meetings, even though he was always in a bad mood over them and cursing Ferdinand’s name about it. She would always make sure her schedule was free to spend a quiet evening with him enjoying what was now her regular order from the restaurant. She still had plenty of invitations to out to occupy the rest of the week, and it was nice to just relax with an old friend rather than being anxious about how she was going to impress whoever was taking her out.

They ate on the balcony; the sunset was a beautiful mix of pinks that evening. It would almost be romantic if Hubert wasn’t doing paper work while eating and Dorothea wasn’t absolutely sweating from the way the heat in the building rose up to the top floor. His bangs were beginning to curl in the humidity and Dorothea didn’t dare look at the state of her own mane in the mirror. She knew she looked a hot mess.

“Do you ever stop working?”

“I sleep, sometimes,” said Hubert without looking up. His reading glasses kept sliding down the nose, forcing him to push them back up.

She could not help but be amused by the sight of him. “When did you start wearing glasses?”

“When I started getting fucking old,” complained Hubert.

“You’re thirty-six, you’re not old,” said Dorothea with a laugh. She remembered how Manuela at the same age used to be miserable about it.

Hubert took off his glasses to look at her. “I think the war prematurely aged us.” He pointed to where his temples were now completely gray, “You realize I started graying at twenty-two?” He held up a scarred hand, “After battles the pain in my wrists was unlivable. Sometimes it still flares up.”

Dorothea remembered how they had eagerly sank their hands into the Faerghus snows after one fight just to numb their magic weary hands. “My hands ache too sometimes,” she said as she massaged her own wrists.

He sighed as he looked out at the city, “I don’t know how you stand this place in the summer. The heat, the smell.”

“I grew up on these streets,” she shrugged. “It sucks sometimes, but it’s home.” There had been a time in her life when she couldn’t wait to leave Enbarr to explore the world. Between the war and her tours she’d been many more places and tried more things than the little despondent street urchin had ever dreamed possible. However now that she had become a more fully realized version of herself, Dorothea had longed for the comfort and familiarity of Enbarr. Living moment to moment was thrilling, but she was beginning to appreciate the sensibility in having somewhere permanent to go to. She had committed to saving up for her own home, not a place to rent, but to own outright. She’d always thought she’d just get married and move in with someone, but as she got older and the options seemed to get worse, she had decided to take matters into her own hands. Dorothea’s youthful dreams of being married with a family had slowly been replaced with dreams of independence and ensuring she’d never live on the streets again. Of course she still wanted romance, who didn’t, but at the end of the day she needed to be able to rely on herself and not dreams of a perfect partner.

Hubert snorted, “Well if you ever want an escape, you have an open invitation to the country.”

“Oh an invitation to the Vestra estate,” said Dorothea with exaggerated enthusiasm. “How exclusive.”

“I thought maybe you were curious where I hung that great big painting of you,” shrugged Hubert. Dorothea choked on her drink. He smirked as he put back on his glasses and returned to his paperwork. He could be utterly infuriating sometimes.

However, when the heat became utterly unbearable, Dorothea found herself in a carriage leaving the city. It amazed her how long Hubert was willing to commute just to live outside of Enbarr, but she did have to admit that the cooler, fresher air was a wonderful change of pace. He had told her to wear something that was good for being outside in. Dorothea had settled on a pair of sturdy wide leg pants, which she almost never wore, and a simple button up. In truth much of her closet was focused on going out to fancy dinners and parties, and certainly not hiking.

Dorothea balked at the size of his estate as it came into view. It was small by noble standards, but still enormous for one person.

There did seem to be a surprising number of people about though. Dorothea didn’t have much of a chance to look around as she was steered towards a side door. It was a kitchen, and to her complete shock, Hubert was cooking.

“You learned to cook?” She sounded surprised. “You always served the meat practically raw back at school.”

“And I remember they used to shut the kitchens down when you were on duty,” teased Hubert as he packed the picnic basket. He gestured for her to follow and made her walk fairly far up a hill before picking a spot for the picnic. Perhaps it was his plan to exhaust her so she would have no choice but to eat the food. However, she was pleasantly surprised that it was actually good.

**Flashback, the Hresvelg Private Estate, Outside Enbarr, 1190**

“Oh wow, look at that view of Enbarr,” said Edelgard pointing into the distance where the city was just barely visible miles away. “Yes, this is the ideal picnic spot.” Edelgard was satisfied by the blanket placement, but Hubert was noting the ant mound just beneath the big tree. He’d be removing that later. She was swinging the basket quite a bit in her hands, having insisted on being the one to carry it.

“Excellent choice your majesty,” said Hubert as he gave the ants a warning stare. They did not seem to notice.

Edelgard opened the picnic basket and laughed weakly, “It appears I need to work on my packing strategy.” Everything was spilled all over the place. “We’ll get it right tomorrow!”

**Flashback, the Hresvelg Private Estate, Outside Enbarr, 1191**

Edelgard unpacked the basket, “Thank you for carrying this up here Hubert. I didn’t realize how much my hands hurt until half way up the hill!” She smiled as she looked at the clouds, “Oh, that one kind of looks like Ferdinand.”

Hubert squinted and laughed because that cloud indeed looked like the Prime Minister. “I am Ferdi-cloud von Aegir.”

“Oh Hubert, that wasn’t even a good pun,” complained Edelgard.

“Sorry Lady Edelgard,” said Hubert as he watched Ferdi-cloud blowing into a more abstract shape. “But, they are both full of hot air.” Edelgard burst out in a laugh.

**Flashback, the Hresvelg Private Estate, Outside Enbarr, 1192**

Edelgard quivered in his arms, she was too weak to walk today. Hubert had her in one arm and the basket in the other with the blanket. She was very small these days, but he was still as strong as ever. He helped her to lean against the great big tree, no more ants dared to make a home here because this was their place, and spread everything out. Then he moved her to the comfort of the blanket and helped to re-tie her shaw around her. It was summer, but she was always cold.

“Thank you Hubert,” she whispered softly.

“Of course Edelgard,” he said as he laid down so she could lay on him.

**Flashback, the Hresvelg Private Estate, Outside Enbarr, 1193**

“Maybe not on the hill today Hubert,” whispered Edelgard from the chaise lounge. “Maybe just in here.”

Hubert placed the tea cup filled with Bergamot into her hands and went to the kitchen to fetch her lunch. He’d eat later, she needed his help to hold the bowl of soup up. He heard a crack of porcelain and a splash.

He saw her hand first, pale and limp hanging off the lounge. Hubert abandoned what he was doing and ran to her.

“El,” he whispered as he held her. Her violet eyes were open but she wasn’t really there. He massaged her arms with his gentle white magic, the little he was capable of, and eventually she came back from wherever she’d been off to. “Hubert, I’m sorry, did I drop the cup?”

Hubert looked at the Bergamot soaking into the hardwood and the shards of porcelain littering the floor. “No, it just fell,” lied Hubert as he looked at her.

“Maybe no picnic at all today,” whispered Edelgard. “May I have my spot back?”

Hubert ignored the half assembled lunch in the kitchen and the puddle of tea on the floor, and carefully moved Edelgard so that he could lay beside her on the lounge chair. She smiled as she settled in against his chest and whispered very softly, “No more healing spells, not today.”

***

“I still can’t believe you made this,” said Dorothea as she sampled the tea sandwiches.

Hubert was a little embarrassed by how much effort he had put into impressing her, but he was secretly pleased that it seemed to have worked. “I learned because Edelgard asked me to. She wanted as few people, including servants, around as she got closer to the end.” He felt free talking with a friend rather than guarding himself around the politicians or his agents. It was refreshing to just speak, without worry of blackmail.

“I don’t think I could have done what you did,” said Dorothea as she pulled her legs up towards her chest.

“It was how she wanted to die,” said Hubert as he looked back at the estate. “Byleth never forgave her for that. The professor was convinced they could find a cure, that their love would find a way.” Hubert sighed as he remembered the fights the professor and Edelgard would have behind closed doors.

Dorothea watched him, “I always wondered how they went from so in love to never speaking again.”

“In the end, she didn’t want to be cut open again. She was exhausted, and she just wanted to rest.” His heart felt heavy as he remembered her making the decision to stop looking for a way to save herself in the years following Lysithea’s death, “She wanted to leave the public eye, and she asked me to join her.”

“The two of you, you never —” Dorothea’s voice trailed off.

Hubert shook his head. “No. It was never about physical attraction; we loved each other, but never in that way. She was my best friend, and for much of my life, my only friend.” He stretched out and rested his hands on his chest. “She started to decline slowly, at first. It was things dropped and a slight tremor to her hands. Then it was names forgotten for a moment, words lost from memory. She’d ask me how people who had been dead for years were doing. Then the flashbacks started.” Hubert remembered her screaming through the night as she relived the Agarthans torture over and over. “In the last few months, she deteriorated rapidly.” He shut his eyes as he pictured her final days. Years later his heart still ached when he thought about it as much as it had when her death was still a new concept for him to struggle with. “I held her for hours that last day, I didn’t let go until she had slipped away so that she would never be alone.” He opened his eyes and looked back at Dorothea, “Sorry, we don’t have to talk about this.”

“I wanted to know,” whispered Dorothea. “But there wasn’t really ever a time to ask.”

He rolled onto his side to face Dorothea, “I was lost for a long time when she died, and I struggled to learn how to be alone without her. It was like she a left a void in me when she died.” He stopped himself before he said anything more. The months following the Emperors death had almost killed him.

“I ran away when it happened,” said Dorothea. “Enbarr was in mourning and everywhere I turned I was reminded that she was really gone. I jumped on the first tour I could get.”

“Now you play her on stage,” said Hubert.

“My finest role ever,” said Dorothea. “It’s draining to play, but I love it. I’m thinking about pursuing more serious acting roles for my next act.”

“Straight plays instead of opera?” Hubert was surprised. She was a great actress but she was truly an unparalleled singer.

“I want the challenge,” said Dorothea. “Ever since the war ended I’ve felt, I don’t know how to describe it, like I peaked. Not as a singer of course, but in the risks I’ve been willing to take. Now I take the same kinds of roles over and over again, date the same stupid guys over and over, well, you know. I hated battle, but I loved the pride of coming back victorious.”

“We had some close calls,” said Hubert as he remembered fighting alongside her. They were often together on the field coordinating the magic attacks. Sometimes though the two of them got cut off from the others along the front lines. Those had were always the scariest times.

“I still have nightmares about it,” admitted Dorothea. “That one battle,” she paused as if searching out the name, “We were in some city, I got trapped and you came and got me out.”

“Myrddin,” said Hubert with reluctance. “I didn’t get you out, I got trapped with you.”

“But you came for me,” said Dorothea. “And we picked off the enemies together.”

“Until we exhausted ourselves,” said Hubert. At that point in the battle he had been pretty sure they were not going to make it out. Dorothea had overexerted herself so much she could barely stand let alone run out from their hiding place. He wasn’t much better off and remembered shakily taking her sword in a desperate bid to fight off whatever enemy reached them first. “Ferdinand came and saved us both. He didn’t let me forget that for months. He still brings it up sometimes.”

“I think I must have been passed out by that point,” mused Dorothea. “I remember waking up to Lin healing me.”

“Ferdinand took you back first, while I waited with your sword hoping no one found me,” whispered Hubert. “But we won.” He paused, “Were you serious when you said you had been keeping up with your battle magic?”

Dorothea looked a little embarrassed, “It’s hard when you’re in a city, but when the tour makes rest stops in little isolated stretches, I’ll usually try to see how much I can still do. But I haven’t cast anything in months, not since stopping by Garreg Mach to visit with Caspar and Lin, and the professor.”

“I have a range, will you show me what you can do?” offered Hubert.

“Oh Hubie, I don’t know,” said Dorothea. “What’s the point anyway? The war is over.”

“Come on, when was the last time you cast Meteor?” He had always been intensely jealous that she had mastered that spell. He had never been able to get the hang of it.

Dorothea looked at him, “Where’s this range?” She had always been a bit of a show off.

He led her up the hill to where he’d constructed a range with targets in the distance. Dorothea took a deep breath and released a few practice shots of fire. Her eyes focused on the distance and then she let loose the rain of rocks barreling down upon the target. Hubert felt the ground tremor as it hit. Dorothea jumped in the air with her fists high, “Still got it!”

“Impressive,” said Hubert as he approached her.

“Now you have to do one.”

Hubert had never really mastered black magic spells. He excelled at dark magic; it was more powerful but less accurate. Hubert flexed his fingers and shook out his hands, which were sure to hurt later, as he contemplated what to cast. He settled on Dark Spikes and demolished the target in the distance. He thought always thought that spell was his most impressive.

“Not bad,” said Dorothea. “But it’s no meteor.”

***

They had returned to the picnic blanket to sit. Dorothea always needed to rest after casting such a powerful spell, and she had already told Hubert there was no way in hell she was walking back quite yet. He seemed to be in no rush, and it was refreshing to see him not working.

“It seems really lonely being in that giant house all by yourself,” said Dorothea as she stared at the manor.

“I’m not alone,” said Hubert. He pointed to the corner of the estate, “I occupy a couple rooms down there, but the rest of the house isn’t empty.”

Dorothea narrowed her gaze and half teasingly, half seriously she gave him a careful stare, “What do you have someone locked up in the attic?”

Hubert laughed, “No, this is where I based my department.”

“This, _this_ is the Ministry of Whispers?” Dorothea asked dumbfounded. She knew that people often speculated about its location but she’d never heard anyone suggest it was actually outside of Enbarr completely.

“Well, like you said, it is a giant house for one person,” said Hubert. “Although we have outgrown it. Once we finish the transition to the new building I suppose it will just be me again.”

Dorothea looked at the house, “You could always sell it.”

“No,” said Hubert. “This is where she died, I can’t just let anyone buy it.”

Dorothea understood the sentiment. She found herself staring at the house, wondering what kind of secrets were held inside it. When she focused she could see movement within it, people coming and going that she had thought were servants were actually spies. It was thrilling to be privy to the secret location of Fodlan’s intelligence headquarters. It meant a great deal to her that Hubert had trusted her with this information.

“Where do you see yourself in five years,” asked Hubert.

Dorothea snapped back from her daydreaming, “I don’t know. I guess I’ll be,” she paused at the realization she’d be pushing 40. That was an uncomfortable thought, “I suppose I’ll still be acting. The roles are becoming fewer, and I dread the day where I’m relegated to playing mothers, and, ugh, grandmothers, but I don’t really know what else I’d be doing.” She picked up a blade of grass and played around with it while she contemplated the uncertainty of her future. “I guess I always assumed I’d be married by now, I never really planned for the possibility of getting old alone.”

“Do you want to still be acting?”

Dorothea loved the stage but she was tired of being just an actress. She wanted to take a more controlling role in the productions if she was being honest with herself. “Not necessarily, why?” She wanted to know what he was getting at.

“Well I have a proposal for you,” started Hubert.

Dorothea blushed, “Marry you?”

“What, no,” said Hubert, sounding caught off guard. “I want to hire you.”

Dorothea was embarrassed at her misunderstanding. She felt like their roommate dynamic had pretty much fallen into a very comfortable routine over the last five weeks, but that was hardly a reason to marry someone. “Hire me to do what?”

He pointed at the house, “I think your talents are well suited to being a spy.”

“Me, a spy? Don't be ridiculous, I don’t know the first thing about that,” balked Dorothea. That wasn’t entirely true; she had essentially been a spy for Hubert during the war, but now was a time of peace. Plus she was just mostly spying within their camps, and it was more gossiping a lot than actually being in danger.

“Most of it is just pretending to be something you’re not and getting people to talk,” said Hubert. “I admit it’s not always the safest job, but you just showed me you can still drop a meteor if you need to.”

Dorothea realized the whole picnic had just been an interview and felt a little sheepish. “I can’t be a spy, people know me.”

“People know me too,” said Hubert. “Your reputation is an asset. Think of the invitations you get in a given week, do you understand the kinds of access you’re granted because people want to brag that they have a famous singer at their party?”

“I’m just not seeing it Hubie,” said Dorothea. She had barely made it through the war, the idea of being a spy terrified her. However, a small part of her was also eager to be recognized for something other than her voice and her looks.

“Would you be willing to at least try it once? I’ll be going into the city in a few days trying to gather some information, come with me. We can consider it a field test,” offered Hubert.

“Information on who?”

“The new Minister of Trade,” said Hubert. “He’s hosting a state dinner, there will be a lot of people there. I’m just planning on poking around after dinner. Come as my guest.”

“I don’t know Hubert, what if we get caught?” said Dorothea nervously.

“Do you trust me?”

“Well, yes,” started Dorothea.

“We’re not going to get into a mess. At worst, you might not be invited back,” promised Hubert. “Just follow my lead and use your improvisation skills.”

“And if I change my mind?”

“Then I will just ask you to cover for me while I’m absent,” said Hubert. “I plan on taking maybe twenty minutes to see if I can get into his letters. I want to know what correspondence he’s been sending to Morfis. There’s been an uptick in dark seals on the black market, I just need to make sure he’s not the source.”

Dorothea hesitated, and then thought about her prospects. Play more damsels in distress and grandmothers? “What does being a spy pay?”

Hubert looked uncertain, “I don’t know that off the top of my head, but it is consistent work so there’s that.”

“Fine, I’ll do the field test,” she said though she was pretty sure this was not work she was cut out for. She just had to convince herself that it was just a different sort of acting job.

**Flashback, the ~~Hresvelg~~ Vestra Private Estate, Outside Enbarr, 1194**

“Lord Vestra, I wasn’t able to get this stain out of the flooring, but it can be replaced,” promised his eager new assistant Fritz who had come earlier to open up the estate again. It was fantastically dusty after a little over a year of absence and whole crew of maids and movers were helping to renovate the space into the new intelligence headquarters.

“Leave it,” whispered Hubert looking at the discolored wood around the chaise lounge. “Just leave this space as it is. We’ll have the bedrooms converted into offices, and the dining room and library can be converted for training areas. But the kitchen and the sitting room, don’t move anything in there.”

“But, Lord Vestra, where will you sleep?” Fritz clutched his clipboard to his chest nervously.

Hubert sighed and gestured towards the empty servants quarters beyond the kitchen, “Those will be perfectly fine for me.”

“But,” Fritz stopped himself and then swallowed, “Sir, shouldn’t you keep some of the house suitable for entertaining? What if you have guests?”

Hubert shook his head, “I won’t Fritz, don’t worry about it.”

The room still reeked of Bergamot.


	4. A working date

Dorothea looked in the mirror, _Tonight you are a spy_. She applied her dark lipstick, _A sexy dangerous spy_. She had perhaps gone overboard with this particular black dress. She usually saved it for very special second dates, but it was her go to for feeling confident. The daring height of the slit and the way it clung to her was perhaps obscene for a governmental function but Dorothea didn’t care. Tonight she was being escorted by the infamous Lord Vestra and she dared anyone to say something.

If Manuela could see her now, what would her mom figure say? Probably something like “ _More cleavage! Work it_ ,” because Manuela was a terrible influence. Dorothea missed her so much. She’d once thought maybe she’d retire to Enbarr with her mentor and the two of them could ignore their poor luck with men and just have each other. But alas, Manuela had died fighting with her former students on the side of the Alliance. All Dorothea had left of her was a framed playbill from one of Manuela’s old shows winking at her now, and her flask, but Dorothea didn’t use that as often these days.

She had tied her hair back, leaving a few strands dangling down. She wasn’t actually sure what kind of danger they might be in so Dorothea also chose the garter that held her knife. She stared in the mirror working into getting into the role. If it were a show, Lord Vestra would be the tall, dark, and since it was the stage and not real life, exceptionally handsome male lead, and she would be his love interest. The whole play would build as a series of _will they won’t they?_ scenes, until climaxing in a dangerous situation, ended with a kiss and implications of a happily immediately after. Dorothea sighed and hung her head; knowing Hubert they were probably just going to eavesdrop on some dull conversations and maybe read a letter or two they shouldn’t. At the least the food and drinks would likely be good, and Bernie and Ferdie were sure to be there.

Hubert did a double take as she walked out. She gave him a cool smile, “I’m ready.”

Hubert wiped his face, “You look, very,” his voice trailed off as he failed to complete the thought. She lived for such reactions, although she rarely got them from him.

“I know,” she winked. “Come on let’s go do this.”

The Minister’s estate in Enbarr was massive. Dorothea didn’t realize there would literally be hundreds of people mingling. “I’ll warn you ahead of time,” said Hubert into her ear, “I might appear detached tonight, perhaps cold. It’s not you, it’s these functions.”

“I understand Lord Vestra,” she said dramatically as he offered his arm.

“Please don’t call me that,” he said stiffly. “Use my name tonight if you’re talking to someone. Convey that you are on a first name basis with me, even though they are not.”

That was interesting to her. For all she had heard about Lord Vestra, she had never really seen that side of Hubert. He’d always been a bit on the fringe of things, coming off as a little too calculating and unfeeling at times, but Dorothea had known his fierce loyalty and passion for justice first hand. He had literally been willing to die for his friends on more than one occasion, and Dorothea found him to be one of the bravest people she knew. It hurt her to see how poor his image was because it was so far from the truth.

They were announced and Dorothea felt the scrutiny of all the eyes upon her. She wondered if she should have worn such a salacious dress after all. It was too late to change it and she just focused on her role, Lord Vestra’s charming date. It was hard though to keep up her confidence as people looked at her, her dress, her partner, and then delved into whispering.

Hubert seemed unaffected by the stares. Instead he maneuvered them towards the bar to Dorothea’s relief because she could really use a drink. He excused himself to get them something and Dorothea wondered why he was leaving her there alone. It did not take long for the first fish to take the bait, and Dorothea realized that Hubert wanted people to come talk to her, which they would only do if he left her side.

“Dorothea Arnault, what an absolute pleasure,” came the smooth voice. A man extended his hand to her, “I am Baron Reynolds. I saw you on stage last month, you gave a very moving performance.”

“Thank you,” said Dorothea as he kissed her hand. His flattery was extremely effective, and it did not hurt that he was handsome. He had large blue eyes and a strong jawline that might scream “cast me as the prince” to a director.

Reynolds’ smile came easily, “I have to ask, how terrible was the black mail that made you agree to come here with Lord Vestra tonight?”

Dorothea laughed lightly, “Oh, I’ve known Hubert for many years.”

“Well when you get bored with him, you should come find me,” said Reynolds with a wink. “I would love to discuss opera with you. And perhaps you could even enlighten me on how Lord Vestra of all people managed to get connected to such a captivating and talented woman.”

“What is it that you do?” Dorothea changed the subject to him. Politicians loved bragging about themselves.

“I am the Minister of the Navy, which is not terribly exciting during peace time, but, I’ll let you in on a little secret, I will be announcing my bid for prime minister later this evening,” said Reynolds enthusiastically.

“Ah, so you plan to unseat Prime Minister von Aegir,” said Dorothea, sounding impressed.

“Well that is the goal of any political race,” explained Reynolds. “My party and I have some critical policy changes we would like to see.”

“I can’t say I know very much about the intricacies of government, what policies would these be?” Men like him loved explaining things to her when she played dumb; she was impressed by how easily she had hooked him into talking.

“Well we must reconsider the changes to the structure of nobility,” said Reynolds as if it were obvious. “I mean, I am all for hard work and reward, but the inheritance of titles and their positions has formed a critical basis of the structure of our society for years. If I ever marry and have children, I would like them to inherit more than just my wealth.” He paused and winked at her again, “And my good looks of course.”

“Fascinating,” lied Dorothea as she caught the dark presence of Hubert out of the corner of her eye. Hubert passed Dorothea a glass of wine. He had a tumbler of what appeared to be whiskey. When she took a sip she had to stop herself from reacting to the taste, it was mostly water and completely awful.

Reynold’s demeanor changed as Hubert joined them. “Vestra,” he said with what seemed a hint of contempt.

Hubert surveyed the Naval minister with utter boredom, “Minister Reynolds.”

“It’s funny, I did not think Ms. Arnault was your type,” remarked Reynolds.

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“Married,” said Reynolds as if he thought himself especially clever.

The corner of Hubert’s lip lifted into a sneer, “Well if you ever take a wife, be sure to introduce me. She’ll probably need a good ravishing if she’s married to you.” He deftly led Dorothea away from the steaming Naval Minister.

“What the hell is this drink?” She asked under her breath.

“We’re working remember,” said Hubert as he spun his own watery drink around in the glass. “Did he tell you anything interesting?”

“He’s going to run for prime minister,”

“That is interesting,” said Hubert as he pretended to appreciate a painting of their host.

“He’s announcing it tonight,” said Dorothea.

Hubert’s gaze traced around the room, “Perhaps we ought to say our hellos to the von Aegirs then.”

Dorothea was rather pleased with herself for getting the information. Hubert and Ferdinand were conferring in hushed tones. Bernadetta was staring at her, “Did Hubert bring you here as his _date_?”

“No, just as a friend,” said Dorothea before sipping some of the extremely watery wine. It was growing on her ever so slightly. She could hear Manuela echoing in her mind, “ _Don’t turn down a free drink, even a bad one_.”

“That’s uh, quite a dress to wear for just a friend,” mused Bernadetta as she looked Dorothea up and down.

Dorothea felt a warm flush in her cheeks, “I’m not wearing it for him! I’m wearing it for me. Besides, who knows whose eyes I might catch tonight.”

“Well I wish you luck then,” said Bernadetta. “While you look for love I will be looking for the closest chair, my feet are killing me, these were the completely wrong shoes to wear tonight.”

Dorothea gave Bernadetta a sympathetic look as Hubert rejoined her, “Well that crisis is averted. I think it’s time we explored this estate.” He politely offered Dorothea his arm.

They walked along the perimeter of the party until Hubert casually slipped into a hallway. They pretended to continue to look at the art on the walls, quietly passing other guests that did not wish to be in the main hall. Dorothea felt their stares as their conversations died down. Hubert seemed to have the opposite power of Dorothea; while people were drawn to her, he seemed to actively repel them. They did not have to wait long for the hall to clear. That’s when Hubert began trying doors.

“You’re just really going for it aren’t you?” said Dorothea with a nervous thrill rising in her chest at the thought of getting caught.

“Come on,” he said as he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a study. He quietly closed the door behind them. “If someone comes in, we’ll just pretend we were trying to find a place to be alone.”

Dorothea smirked, “You know you have just told me you wanted to kiss me, no need for this elaborate ruse.”

Hubert scoffed as he began to rummage through the desk.

“What should I be doing?” Dorothea was getting nervous again.

“Listen at the door, keep watch,” said Hubert as he pulled out his glasses. “Or start reading and memorizing.”

She fidgeted while feeling she would be more useful doing something more active. Hubert was silent as he read, seeming to be committing every word to memory. She sighed, “Anything of interest?”

“Not especially,” admitted Hubert.

She came over to pick up the letter he just read. It was about grain stocks, and incredibly dull. Dorothea set the letter down and let her hand brush lightly against his glove. He was always wearing those damned gloves in public.

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch,” he whispered. It wasn’t an angry or accusing tone; he more seemed curious as to why she was over here.

“Hubie, you’re reading about agricultural production, I don’t think it’s exactly compromising if someone catches us,” sighed Dorothea. She sat up on the desk and picked up another equally boring letter.

“Well the point is to not get caught,” he said as he gently freed one of the letters she was sitting on.

Dorothea crossed her legs and teasingly nudged Hubert with her high heel, “You promised me intrigue.” She enjoyed talking with people and getting them to spill their guts, this was just boring.

Hubert cleared his throat, “I don’t recall promising you anything.” He scanned through yet another dull letter, “But if you’re bored, we can go back to the party. This is not especially useful.”

Dorothea heard someone’s shoes clicking loudly as they walked down the hall. She heard them slowing until they were nearly outside the door. She turned to Hubert wide eyed.

He hurriedly removed his reading glasses. She uncrossed her legs and put her hand on the back on his head to bring his face in close, “Kiss me.”

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he whispered as his hands found their way around her hips and pulled her into him. He immediately started sucking on her neck in a sloppy way she knew was going to leave a mark.

Dorothea swallowed her fear at getting caught aside and threw herself into the part. She pushed her free hand over the papers, sending them into a mess on the floor. Hubert’s hands were rather adventurous as they held onto her ass and she decided that if he was going to get touchy with her, well then she was going to take liberties with him. Dorothea ground her hips against his and felt his body buck at bit in surprise as her legs wrapped around him. She went in for his earlobe and decided if she had to have a hickey so did he. Hubert let out a groan as she did it and she could start to feel him growing aroused through his trousers. For a moment the lines blurred between them and the roles they were playing.

The Trade Minister’s valet sputtered as he saw them, “You-You can’t be in here.”

Dorothea looked embarrassed because she was embarrassed at being seen in such an intimate embrace. “Hubert, stop there’s someone here.”

Hubert slowly extracted himself from Dorothea. She was frightened by how cold his eyes had become as they regarded her. He turned his disdainful stare towards the valet.

The valet had gone white as a sheet, “Lord Vestra—”

Hubert flared his nostrils as he smoothed his dark hair back, “You should keep the door locked if you don’t want people in here.”

He helped Dorothea down from the desk with a strong grip around her arm. With a cool indifference he straightened the shoulders of her dress and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt.

Hubert was not done with the valet and his stare was sharp, “If I can’t be here, where do I go for a quick fuck?”

Dorothea watched as the Valet shrank and sputtered. Hubert rolled his eyes and sighed with disgust, “Useless.” His vile attention snapped over to Dorothea and he smiled, not his shy half smile but that cruel one he used when mocking someone, “Come Ms. Arnault I suppose I will just have to take you home after all, don’t worry I’ll pay you extra accordingly. At least we can be assured no one will interrupt.” The way he led her from the study past the valet was viciously possessive and domineering.

As soon as they were clear of the hall way Hubert released her. Dorothea’s heart was pounding.

“That was quick thinking,’ he said to her with a breathless excitement. Dorothea was not sure she wanted to be praised for it. “I’m sorry for being so crude.”

“You got a little scary back there,” she whispered feeling a little sick. She rubbed her arm where he’d been handling her. He had been a little too rough. She grew red as she thought back to the moment, “And never imply that I’m fucking you for cash.” Her eyes got a little watery against her wishes; this wasn’t the first time she’d been accused of being a paid whore and he knew it. She did a lot of things for money that would probably shock her friends if they knew the places she performed or the private clients she saw, but sex for money was one thing she did not do.

Hubert paused and gently tucked some loose strands of her hair back behind her ear, “I apologize for rushing things or if I said anything too harsh. I hope you know that was just a persona I put on.”

“I understand acting, I just didn’t know how good you were at it,” huffed Dorothea as she batted his hand away. It had felt too real to her to shake off.

It seemed to bother him that she had said that, but he didn’t say anything more about it as they rejoined the party. He remained fairly quiet for the rest of the evening, and Dorothea felt the need to pick the conversation as they interacted with the other guests. He was very attentive to her needs but Dorothea had no idea what was going on inside his head. When he brought her a proper drink rather than something watered down, Dorothea took it as a signal that they were done working.

Eventually they separated and Bernadetta eagerly sought Dorothea out, “Could he have chosen a more boring event to bring you to?”

“I haven’t been bored,” said Dorothea honestly.

“Well you’ll have to tell me your secret, I wanted to leave hours ago but Ferdinand is campaigning,” grumbled Bernadetta as she stared at her husband.

“Can’t you play the whole mother his children card?”

Bernadetta sighed, “I think I’ve been using that too often to get out of things.”

Ferdinand was talking to a large group. Hubert stood on the periphery, looking disengaged. “Maybe I can take you home now, and Hubert can bring home Ferdinand.”

“Oh please make that happen,” said Bernadetta enthusiastically. She peeked a high heel out from beneath her skirt, “The sooner I can get these off, the better.”

Dorothea traced over to Hubert, and pulled him to the side, “Would it be alright if I took Bernadetta home? I thought perhaps you could leave with Ferdinand.”

“Of course,” said Hubert. He was barely maintaining eye contact with her.

He seemed unusually subdued, and Dorothea wondered if she ought not to offer for him to leave too. “You could also just come with us.”

“I’m not sure I should,” said Hubert. He was keeping a fairly wide breadth between them, “I would understand if you would prefer I didn’t stay in the city tonight.”

Dorothea frowned, “Can we discuss this later?”

Hubert nodded, “Take Bernadetta home, I’ll make sure Ferdinand comes back at a reasonable time.”

**Flashback, The Mittlefrank Estate, Premiere party 1174**

Dorothea eagerly pushed her way towards the big mirror in the women’s dressing room to apply the lipstick she’d nicked. Bright red. She decided that red was kind of her thing because everyone should have a signature color. Tonight was the night she was finally getting to go to the premiere party for the new show, Cinderella, and Dorothea was the star.

Manuela gave her a teasing scoff, “Don’t you think that’s a bit bold darling?” It was rich coming from a woman slapping orange eye shadow on her lids. She liked orange and how it popped against teal and white, her chosen color scheme for all her outfits. They were such good colors and Dorothea knew she was going to find something similar to compliment her love of red. Maybe black instead of white, and darker teal to stand against the rich scarlet.

Dorothea smacked her lips to spread the lipstick and gave Manuela a wink. “I’m a bit bold, darling,” she said bravely to her idol. She was thirteen going on thirty with all the makeup she was wearing and cleavage she was showing. Who was going to stop her? She was her own supervision.

“What a little flirt,” smirked Manuela as she finished applying her own make-up. “Someday you’re not going to want to look so old, trust me.”

Dorothea was super excited as she clutched her first cocktail in her hands. She was surprised she wasn’t shaking with how much anticipation was running through her. All of Enbarr’s most famous people — actors, singers, politicians, nobles — were gathered for the party. It was a hot ticket and Dorothea felt like a glittering star in the center of the room.

People were talking to her, coming up to her just to get a chance to meet her, it was so exciting. Handsome men, even handsome women were praising her beautiful performance. The tale was an old one, the crestless daughter of a noble cast down to be a servant by her wicked stepmother and her two crest bearing wicked stepsisters. There was some questionable magic with animals, and a beautiful benevolent fairy godmother, played excellently by Manuela, and then the prince falls in love with Cinderella and marries her, crest be damned. Goddess, if only Dorothea could be so lucky someday.

A drunk noble was chatting up the woman who played Dorothea’s evil stepmother, she was actually a very nice, and joking about the plot, “I like to think my own little crestless bastard maybe made it out okay.”

The not very wicked at all stepmother raised her eyebrow, “Excuse me?”

He was very drunk, as he put a hand on her shoulder, “Accidents happen with maids sometimes but there’s no helping it—” The man caught Dorothea’s eyes and she swallowed uneasily. His eyes were bright green and he was very handsome. He looked at Dorothea as if he knew her, as if he recognized her and her heart leapt at the idea that her father was finally acknowledging her, “Oh goddess it’s you, it’s Cinderella!”

Dorothea weakly nodded as she realized he had no clue who she was even if she knew exactly who he was. She had begged at his house when her mother died, trying to get a job, trying to basically be Cinderella without any hopes of a prince just a roof over her head and maybe some scraps of food.

“You were great,” said the noble completely forgetting the wicked step mother and coming over to Dorothea. He leaned in, looking down her shirt, “So what’s it take to get you out for evening?”

“Excuse me?” asked Dorothea finding that her voice was very small.

“You, how much are you for an evening?” the scent of alcohol on his breath was enough to get Dorothea drunk.

Her drink slipped from her hands in shock and shattered on the floor causing a great big scene. Everyone was turning now to see this man groping at her and Dorothea wished that she had a crest that made people invisible.

“Woah woah woah, hands off buddy,” snarled Manuela as she inserted herself in between Dorothea and her father, “She’s thirteen you pig.”

“Well she looks a lot older,” sneered the noble as he gestured to Dorothea’s relatively new and growing breasts. Manuela chased him off with some curses and took Dorothea, who was now tearing up, upstairs to the bathroom. She carefully cleared away the running mascara, of which Dorothea had used way too much, and gave Dorothea a disapproving look.

“Why did your parents even let you come to this party? What on earth were they thinking!”

Dorothea sobbed harder, “My mom is dead, and my dad, well he doesn’t even know who I am.”

Manuela hugged her. She sighed and looked at Dorothea, “Kid, men are gross. If you find a good one, hold on for dear life and don’t let him go because most guys are like that asshole. Ask me how I know—”

“How do you know—”

“That was rhetorical honey,” said Manuela. For the rest of the show Manuela became something like a real fairy godmother for Dorothea. It was amazing and wonderful and Dorothea made the mistake of thinking maybe this was someone who might be like a mom to her. But Manuela’s contract ended and she wasn’t cast for a new part because she was a little older than Mittlefrank wanted his leading ladies to be. So she left, declaring she was going to go teach, and Dorothea was alone again, but now she was a little older and just a little wiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call the Dorothea/Manuela ship Momuela because...Dorothea needs a mom.


	5. As they were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback is based on Dorothea and Hubert's in game B/A supports (but much sexier, cue air horn). I think the B support is great, but the A support is kind of weird in my opinion.

**Flashback Imperial War Camp 1181**

They rarely took off their clothes for this. It was too many buckles and buttons and bother. It was just quicker to get in and get off than to properly go to one of their tents and get undressed and make a whole evening of things. Hubert’s time was limited, though when he was with her, his attention was only on her. Although she suspected otherwise, “Are you picturing Edie right now while you’re inside me?”

“Fuck you Dorothea, don’t say that,” moaned Hubert in her ear. He was holding her up behind some wagons so she wouldn’t get muddy. They never wasted too much time trying to find a relatively private place for a quickie, because again, time was short. “When I’m with you I’m only thinking about you,” he looked honest, but this was Hubert after all. Deception was literally part of his job.

“You’re such a liar Hubie,” she laughed. They teased each other often. He was great at trash talk and always listened to whatever juicy gossip she had for him. He made her laugh a lot, but not always on purpose, “You’re definitely thinking about your to-do list.”

“You’re at the top of my to-do list,” he said in one of his breathy whispers before he nibbled on her earlobe. He paused then, uncertainly, “Are you thinking about other people?”

“That’s my business Hubie,” she whispered. Sometimes, yes, but usually no. To distract him from that, she dared to tease her fingers into a new place they’d never been in him.

He almost dropped her and growled, “You need to ask someone permission before you just finger them in the ass.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“Well now I will,” he snapped with his eyes closed as she went in further. He had slowed down a lot as she tried to find his prostate. It was fun showing him all these new things that he’d never experienced. As far as she was concerned Hubert had a few things going for him: he was tall and toned with a proportionately sized cock, he actually looked hot in his uniform compared to the clothes he wore in school, he was always attentive to making sure she got what she needed, and each time they hooked up he seemed to be just a little more confident in how he handled her. However, at the end of the day poor Hubie was a blind drone obsessed with his Emperor, and Dorothea wasn’t getting too attached to him because he was always going to belong to Edelgard.

Dorothea bit her lip as she watched his face, “You are Mr. Unrequited love.”

Hubert’s eyes were still shut but now he was frowning, “Maybe. But not for Lady Edelgard.”

“Then why are you doing me instead of her?” She challenged as she pulled her fingers out too fast and he jerked in surprise and then pulled out of her entirely. He lifted her and set her up on the wagon so he could stop supporting her weight.

He gave her that stupid smoldering glower he was so good at as he began to finish himself off. Dorothea teased him with a flash of her breasts to help inspire him along, “Come on Hubie, just admit it, you’re into powerful, rebellious women.”

“Apparently I have a thing for loud, annoying people,” His stare had never broken from her and she got the drift. She was going too far, and this wasn’t fun.

When he was done he shook his head at her, “Go wash your hands and please let me finish you off properly.”

“Is that an order General von Vestra?” she chuckled as she complied. He lightly spanked her with a serious expression but ended up getting embarrassed himself because at that moment Marianne had walked by. They’d already traumatized poor Marianne enough for one lifetime that one time they had thought the stables at Garreg Mach were suitably private for celebrating the successful capture of the Monastery. They had been wrong and Marianne still wouldn’t make eye contact with Hubert.

He followed behind Dorothea, washing his own hands and leaving his gloves off. He surprised her when pulled her into his tent. It was meticulously clean, just like him.

He eased her down onto his bedroll and started to carefully undress her so that her front was exposed. She raised an eyebrow, “How do you have time for this? Don’t you have a standing appointment to remove people for the Emperor?”

“Indulge me, I like doing this with you,” he whispered as he started to kiss her. She wasn’t going to tell him not to do it, because he always made it worth her while when he made extra time just for her, but she was pretty familiar with his tight schedule at this point.

“My feelings for the emperor are not unrequited. I don’t understand why you continue to think I’m some drooling simpleton obsessed with her majesty. Yes, I love her, but it’s not sexual, it’s deeper than that and it’s not one sided.” He usually didn’t talk this much and Dorothea realized to her chagrin she’d just let herself get trapped in a lecture.

His mouth was cutting a path down her front as his words were punctuated with slow deliberate kisses. “I have many feelings for the Emperor. Gratitude,” a kiss on her breast, “Respect,” a kiss on her other breast lest it feel left out, “Awe,” a kiss near her navel, “Empathy,” a kiss below her navel on that patch of her body she hated so much, “Trust.” He slid his fingers inside Dorothea, “We share a hope for the same dream. That’s what she and I have.” He left the last kiss right on her sex before his thumb came up to rub against her most sensitive spot.

Dorothea swallowed, feeling a little overwhelmed by his words and wishing someone was singing her praises in the same way. “Okay, I was teasing you,” she admitted. “But I gotta say, I’m a little jealous right now of you two. I don’t know that I’ll ever have anything like that.”

Hubert brought his face back up a little closer to hers as he continued to finger her, “Yes you will. You’re Dorothea fucking Arnault. Show me the fool in this camp that doesn’t want to devote themselves to you.”

“I think he’s with me right now,” she said with a smirk before he teased a small whine out of her.

“The war is my main focus because it has to be,” said Hubert very seriously. His other hand came up to comb through her hair.

“What about after the war?” asked Dorothea as he got her closer to getting off.

Hubert sighed as he watched her facial expressions now. “Let’s be honest with each other, you’re with me because you’re bored and waiting for someone better. I know this, and yet somehow you’ve cast a spell that makes me into an eager to please idiot around you,” whispered Hubert with a wicked grin. His smile fell a little, “But let’s not pretend you want to make this a thing because you’re clearly not interested in me for anything other than sex.”

It wasn’t unfair because it was true. They’d established right away this was just going to be sporadic hooking up as it stayed convenient for them. Hubert didn’t have time to court someone, nor the know-how, and Dorothea wanted to be properly romanced if she was going to be anything more with someone. She wanted private tea time, she wanted someone to write her poems or other romantic shit, and no one would ever accuse Hubert of being cuddly and romantic. He was almost laughably soft in private, but he was razor sharp everywhere else in his words and his actions. Dorothea was not interested in trying to force this into anything more complicated.

However, what she was now keenly interested in was having someone feel for her like Hubert felt for Edelgard. It was operatic, and it wasn’t something she ever thought she’d hear someone express so honestly of the stage. Apparently Hubert did have a romantic heart after all, but it clearly belonged fully to Edelgard. She wondered if he could ever really give such feelings to someone else. She wondered if he could ever give them to her.

“Maybe Edie will order you to marry me,” joked Dorothea.

“Don’t piss her off or she might,” threatened Hubert before he kissed her some more.

“Maybe I’ll ask her to,” whispered Dorothea as he got her to climax.

“This is a very indecent proposal,” he whispered, clearly pleased with himself for eliciting the sounds she was making. He checked his pocket watch and muttered, “Fuck,” under his breath. “I am very late for my 12:30, I apologize, please excuse me.” No kiss goodbye, just him rushing to get off of her and hide his boner and he dashed to his meeting.

It was only 12:32, but Hubert had duties to attend to and Dorothea was, by his own admission, not his main focus.

“Dorothea, are you alright?” asked Bernadetta cautiously. She had changed into something much more comfortable and was enjoying a cup of tea while they waited. “You’ve barely said a word.”

Dorothea realized she’d been lost in her thoughts. She was reliving Hubert announcing how he was going to go fuck her to a stranger like she was a prostitute. She knew she probably would never see that valet again but she was still mortified. She realized he was covering for their spying, but she wished he had said almost anything else. It had been cruel, even for him. It was making her think a lot about who he had been, and who he was now and maybe she didn’t know him like she thought she did.

She took a sip of her tea and realized she’d let it cool substantially. “I’m fine,” she insisted.

“Something’s on your mind,” said Bernadetta sympathetically. Bernadetta had come a long way when it came to talking about problems from when they were in school.

“I’ve just been thinking about what comes next for me. My show is closing soon, and I’ve been offered a role already in a new production.” Considering that Manuela’s roles had started to dry up when she was only 31 and Dorothea was soon pushing 35 she knew she was on borrowed time with the opera.

“Oh well that’s good,” said Bernadetta with an encouraging smile.

“I’ll probably take it,” said Dorothea, though she dreaded having to play yet another tragic damsel character. Playing Edelgard had been a refreshing break, but strong female roles were rare on stage. She wanted to write her own plays, and she wanted them to be female only productions. The kinds of plays Dorothea wanted to produce were probably too shocking for the likes of the Mittlefrank, maybe too shocking for Enbarr proper. Dorothea wanted to do a show about the real Edelgard — not the embellished one in love with Dimitri — the one who liked sketching her exclusively female lovers nude and dominating them in bed. Dorothea wanted to do a one woman show about Manuela and all her feelings and advice about men. Dorothea wanted to produce a scathing hit piece on her sire, and all the gross nobles just like him. She wanted to do things that mattered.

Dorothea thought about her life off the stage and the chance at being a spy. “I recently auditioned for a very different kind of role. It would be much more meaningful kind of acting, but I’m not sure I’m the right fit for the part.”

Bernadette set her teacup and saucer aside. “Which do you want to do?”

Dorothea spun her hair around her finger as she thought about it, “I’d be taken more seriously if I took the second one, and I think it’ll pay better, but it’s not a sure thing. My audition didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.” She wondered if she could save enough as a spy to have a little house and produce the kind of plays she wished were shown in Enbarr. If she could be a spy maybe she wouldn’t be working three jobs, maybe she could just focus on one and have her evenings totally free. Being able to tell the club she performed at on Wednesdays that she couldn’t make it, so she could come to this dinner instead, had been a nice “ _fuck you I have a better offer_ ” to the gross guy that ran the place. Now she was going to have to go back next week, ugh, how embarrassing.

“It sounds exciting,” suggested Bernadetta. “I know that you haven’t exactly been thrilled with the roles the opera has been casting you in.”

Dorothea sipped some more cool tea, “Yes but those are parts I know how to play.”

“Well, whatever you decide, I’m just glad that you’re staying in Enbarr, it will be so nice to have you back here,” said Bernadetta. “It’s been difficult having everyone so far away these days.”

“I guess I should really work on finding a place,” said Dorothea with annoyance at herself for getting so comfortable in Hubert’s guest room. It was easy to forget it wasn’t her apartment with how often she had it all to herself.

“Well if living at Hubert’s isn’t working out, you can always stay here,” offered Bernadetta.

Dorothea looked at her dubiously, “I’m not going to impose on you.” She loved Bernie and Ferdie but she didn’t want to move into a house with small children as Aunt Dorothea the spinster who couldn’t settle down. This was not what she pictured for herself at 34. Her birthday was coming up, and it felt like with each passing year she was getting further away from her from the vision of life she used to dream about and much closer toward an uncertain nightmare.

She was relieved to hear that Ferdinand and Hubert were back and she didn’t have to think more about the life with a husband or wife and children she didn’t have.

“How did it go?” Called out Bernadetta.

Ferdinand walked into the room beaming, “I think things went great, we completely scooped Reynolds, but I will be glad when the next election is over, whatever the outcome.”

Dorothea watched as Hubert lingered in the doorway, “I think we should be going, it’s late.” She kissed Bernadetta goodbye and gave Ferdinand a hug. She took Hubert’s arm on the way out. She was not surprised that he recoiled from her touch.

In the carriage ride back they sat in silence.

Dorothea sighed, “I’m not a mind reader, you’re going to have to talk to me eventually.”

Hubert was staring out the window. He finally turned to look at her, “I think I shouldn’t have brought you into that situation. You had a quick fix to get out of it, but I think I played my part too well. I don’t expect you to take my apology, but I regret what transpired and I am sorry if I hurt you with my words or how I handled you.” He returned his gaze to the window. She couldn’t recall a time she had ever seen him look so honestly ashamed. She saw his lips form a thin line, “I should have never implied I was paying you to be with me, it was just the first thing that popped into my head and so I went with it.”

“And why was that?” she asked icily as if daring him to say it was the way she dressed or the make up she wore.

“Because why on earth would _you_ want to be with _me_ unless you were getting paid?” he said harshly, still not able to look at her. Hubert was tapping his foot upon the floor of the carriage, “All I know is that’s not what I want people to think when they see us together.”

It struck her as a curious statement, “What do you want them to think?”

Hubert’s mouth opened and quickly shut. “I’ve learned not to care too much what people think about me.” He paused, “But I would prefer not to drag your name through the mud with me.” He cleared his throat, “So consider that your last miserable evening out with Lord Vestra.”

“You really don’t want to work with me,” said Dorothea slowly as the spy job evaporated away from her mind. This was never going to happen.

“You’re my friend and I don’t want to subject you to the awful persona I’ve created for when I’m working,” said Hubert quietly. He dropped his voice down, “It’s been nice having you around, but it’s made me miss what we had at the start of the war. I understand that’s not going to happen again.” He sighed and forced a smile, “I think I was just looking for another excuse to spend time with you, but this was bad judgment on my part to throw you into this without the proper training or taking the time to establish a cover we were both comfortable with.”

Dorothea stared at Hubert, “I’ve missed being with you too.” His eyes were searching her for the joke but there wasn’t one. She just honestly missed him after having been with so many other partners in the meantime; she knew what she had with him was casual but in the grand scheme of things it had been one of the nicer connections she’d had with someone.

They managed to get through the carriage ride, through the elevator, and even through the living room before clothing started to get discarded. Hubert pulled off his shirt and Dorothea saw the scars he’d accrued since the end of the war. He had also filled out quite a bit since then and Dorothea thought he actually looked healthy compared to when she’d seen him near the end of the war. Hubert put her up on his bed and pushed up the bottom of her dress and kissed her thighs.

“I like this,” he whispered as he took off her knife holding garter. “What did you think we were going to do tonight?”

“Not this,” she teased as she pulled out her earrings.

He went in to eat her out when he stopped, “Hold on.” Dorothea sat up breathlessly as he fumbled around trying to get out his reading glasses. Dorothea covered her mouth to muffle her laugh. Hubert got very flustered, “Would you rather I just poke around blindly?”

Dorothea bit her lip, “No, you just look old.”

“We’re practically the same age,” he reminded her with annoyance as he got back to business.

Dorothea didn’t have time to retort because with his glasses on he had now found the spot he’d been searching for. She was recalling what it was like to be with him after nearly fifteen years since the last time they’d shared a bed. He’d always been weird about foreplay; he was clearly into it but he was also efficient about time, annoyingly so. Tonight was different, there wasn’t a meeting to go to or generals to brief. Tonight was just two people rediscovering who they’d become in the last decade and half.

Dorothea pulled off her dress entirely and then sat up and pulled Hubert up to join her on the bed. “Get your pants off already,” she demanded. He did not hesitate, and tossed his glasses to the side clearly not caring what became of them.

Dorothea scratched her fingernails along his back finding new scars she didn’t remember as he entered her. With his face so close she could hear the subtle ways his breathing changed as she rhythmically clenched against him. She realized she was holding onto him very tightly when he whispered urgently, “I have to get out.” She released him and he pulled free of her, finishing off to the side.

After he had cleaned up he got back into the bed beside her, “Do you want me to keep going?” His fingers traced along the inside of her thighs. “Sorry that was a little fast, I haven’t been with anyone face to face in,” his voice trailed off and he cleared his throat. “Well let’s not worry about the math.”

“Just hold me for now,” she whispered as she turned so that they could face each other. It hadn’t been the kind of earth shattering kind of sex she’d had with some past lovers, but Dorothea felt like it had been more a more honest and intimate experience than anything she’d had in a long time.

“You had your tattoo removed?” asked Dorothea as she traced her fingers over the odd looking burn situated on his chest where his slither symbol used to be.

“Ah, that,” said Hubert uncomfortably as he looked down at it. “I went undercover into the Slithers after the war, but I did something rash and reactionary and got caught.”

Dorothea vaguely remembered Hubert being absent for long stretches following the war but at the time she had been absorbed with her own excitement of life in peace time. Everyone had been going their separate ways, and it didn’t seem odd to her at the time that he was doing the same.

Hubert sighed, “They burned off my tattoo.” He lazily gestured over his back, “That’s what all that’s from. It’s unpleasant.” His back was a total mess but Dorothea didn’t exactly want a graphic description of what had been done.

“Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t you have sent someone else?”

He rested his hand on her hip, “Because I was willing to die to destroy them, if that’s what it took. They hurt Edelgard and I wanted to hurt them back.” He smirked sadly to himself, “In the end, it turned out Petra was right about me all along.”

“What did she say?” Dorothea remembered how devastated both Petra and Hubert had been over their break up but neither had really opened up to her about what they had shared.

He looked up at the ceiling, “We would spend our nights dreaming about when the war was over. She was teaching me words in Brigid, and we would plot out the places we would visit. We even had names for the children we wanted to have,” with the last part his voice sort of died in his throat. He was silent for a few moments, “When we went to Brigid for that awful battle, I was supposed to ask her grandfather for his blessing, and then we were going to go to Edelgard and inform her of our plans to get married when the war was done.”

Dorothea remembered holding Hubert as he nearly bled out from his wounds in that battle. She could see the terrible scar along his side from it now. Dorothea gently ran her fingers over the gauntlet wound. Hubert turned back to face her, “Petra, correctly, recognized that there were things I would give my life for, and by extension, any life we were planning together. If I had let her save me, I probably wouldn’t have lost her. But, that might have delayed our victory, and we might have lost others.”

Hubert had a resigned look in his eyes, “Her leaving me was the push that allowed me to really do what needed to be done. I let myself truly become what she was afraid of: a willing martyr for the cause.”

Hubert paused and held Dorothea’s face for a moment, “This is truly abysmal pillow talk, I apologize.”

“It’s strange trying to picture you with Petra, with kids,” said Dorothea as she tried to imagine the scenario.

“It was a long time ago, and I got over it,” said Hubert in a distant voice. Whatever was on his mind he clearly pushing away as he playfully squeezed her, “And haven’t you been engaged, what, four times? Let’s talk about you instead.”

“Hubie, no,” said Dorothea with disgust. “I’ve been engaged twice, and both times were disasters that I am _not_ over.” She bit her lip, “So did I really blow my chance at being a spy?”

“You? You didn’t blow it, I did,” sighed Hubert. He looked frustrated with himself, “I haven’t worked with a partner like that in a very long time. Mercedes and I were undercover together, and it ended extremely poorly. I could have gotten her killed, so after that I’ve only worked alone. It’s much less messy that way.”

“I take it you weren’t just eavesdropping on people with her,” said Dorothea quietly. She had no idea what the Slithers did or how they worked. She’d barely gotten to glimpse them in the war, she only know they were terrible people that had hurt people she loved.

“We killed a whole lot of Slithers, but we didn’t get them all.” He sighed, “Spying on Ferdinand’s political opponents is a favor for a friend, but most of my work these days is finding dark mages and figuring out just how dark they are.”

“You’re still hunting the people that hurt Edie?” asked Dorothea weakly as she recalled when she finally saw Edelgard’s scars. “I know tonight really didn’t go as planned, but if you’re still hiring, that’s something I’m interested in helping with.”


	6. Meet Lord Vestra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some warning: I extrapolate on crest experimentation, and like everything I write, it's not nice.

**Flashback, Imperial War Camp, 1182**

Dorothea knew the Emperor was strong, but she didn’t realize just how strong. Edelgard’s muscles were popping against her skin, but so were her scars. Most had been earned in battle but some were definitely much older. “I’ll just put on a shirt,” started Edelgard, clearly mortified by her nakedness.

Dorothea had spent too long staring, and she was scaring Edie back into her shell.

“No wait,” whispered Dorothea as she rushed to also get naked. In comparison, Dorothea was soft and curvy, and relatively scar free considering they were now two years into the war. She nodded towards the bed, “Please, may I take the lead tonight?”

Edelgard nodded with a slight hesitation. She was used to being in charge and she wasn’t used to being told what to do by people that cared about her, but Dorothea liked being in control when she was with women. She tended towards being submissive with men and dominant with women, but Edie was also dominant, and unable to give over control.

Dorothea started to ease Edelgard’s legs apart so that she could come to lay between them. “You have a dark seal,” said Dorothea softly as she kissed it. The seal was warm beneath the skin. She’d learned how to not be totally creeped out by it after too much time spent around Hubert.

Edelgard swallowed as Dorothea’s fingers traced over the scar of the magic circle. “I don’t like performing dark magic, warp is useful, but the rest of it, well, I’ll leave that to Hubert and Lysithea.” Dorothea wouldn’t argue with that; Edelgard was already frightening enough on the battlefield, she didn’t need to add in Hubert and Lysithea’s brand of fucking scary.

Dorothea found it impossible to ignore the long raised scars that covered the skin beneath the Emperor’s navel. There were many twisting looping lines. Edelgard shivered as Dorothea’s fingers stroked the lines. Dorothea stopped and instead cupped either side of Edie’s hips, “Edie, what are these?” These weren’t injuries; they were precise ritualistic cuts. There were little tattoos that looked like magic symbols all around the Emperor’s pelvis.

Edelgard’s violet eyes were set on the ceiling of the tent in a rather distant looking stare, “That’s where they put the Crest of Flames, that’s what shape of the scar is.”

“They,” started Dorothea uncertainly.

Edelgard pulled away from Dorothea and out of the bed. She went to her trunk and grabbed a shirt, a long button up that ended just below her hips. It obscured all the awful cuts and tattooed marks. The emperor was back in charge and had Dorothea roll over so that Emperor could worship at her alter instead.

“I have two crests,” said Edelgard carefully as she started to do some finger work as a warm up. “Born with a minor crest of Seiros and then given a crest of Flames.” The way she hissed ‘given’ with venom behind it made Dorothea a little cold inside. “’They’ would be the Agarthans, or Slithers as Hubert calls them, and they made me what I am. They wished to put a crest in me, they just needed a hole to stick it in—”

“Edie, what are you saying?” Dorothea knew she was supposed to be being pleasured, but this was frightening.

Edelgard withdrew her fingers as if sensing the way the mood had completely shifted away from any semblance of comfort or happiness. She rested her hand right on top of Dorothea’s unscathed flesh. Her voice was empty as she spoke, “The Crest of Flames they put in me had to go somewhere. For my older siblings they tried the mouth, but each starved to death. They tried eyes, noses, ears, but all of these are too close to the brain and all those siblings eventually went mad. One brother, well, they just cut him up to make some new holes, but that didn’t work either. They had run out of Hservelgs by the time I came back. So the easiest place access me was through there, and they already knew that was a successful method because they’d done it before with another little girl.”

She withdrew her hand completely, “That is why I do not enjoy being touched there. Maybe I will learn in time, but, for right now I am more interested in making love to you than having those gestures returned.” She sat on the edge of the bed and cleared her throat. “I apologize for ruining our evening—”

“Edie no,” whispered Dorothea as she got up to get on her own clothes. “I want you to talk to me about this, I want you to trust me. It doesn’t always have to be about sex, I’d like to just hold you and talk sometimes too.”

Edelgard swallowed and looked humbled, “I am sorry if I have been making things too physical. I am rather new at all this.”

“It’s okay,” promised Dorothea as she returned to the Emperor’s bed. Edelgard watched as Dorothea rearranged the pillows and beckoned her over. The emperor quietly crawled and rested her head on Dorothea’s stomach, just below her breasts. Edelgard wrapped her arms around Dorothea, who had begun to run her fingers through Edie’s long white hair. Dorothea was calm on the surface but inside her rage was building. She was going to find these fucks who did this to Edie, and give them a taste of their own medicine.

Dorothea followed Hubert down the stairwell in silence. She had thrown on his shirt and kind of wished she was wearing a little bit more as they descended towards the unknown. She looked around uncertainly at the door he was unlocking, “What is on the second floor?”

Hubert flicked on the lights revealing a giant open floor plan with just rows upon rows of shelves and little alcoves with desks. “This is our evidence storage.” He looked back at her, “It’s probably a good time to mention this is another Ministry of Whispers building.”

“That would explain the lack of neighbors,” whispered Dorothea. She glanced around at all the strange objects, “Is that, is that a bomb?”

Hubert looked at the device, “Probably. We confiscate a lot stuff. Most of the agency is focused on just preserving the government, you know, making sure places like Faerghus are calm and happy and that nobles aren’t scheming too much about taking back their old privileges. Putting down crest breeding rings, sick stuff like that.”

She decided she had no desire to ask what a crest breeding ring entailed, and followed him back towards another area that was filled with all manner of evil looking things she didn’t understand. Hubert had her sit at a table and began to pull stacks of files and maps. The back wall was lined with jars upon jars of dark seals stored in mineral oil. Dorothea watched as they spun and bobbed of their own accord. There was a board with a map of Fodlan and what looked like dark magic symbols and organization names scattered across the continent.

“What is all this?”

Hubert gestured to the wall, “I’m continuing Lysithea’s research. I had it all moved here when Hanneman retired, and took all his work too. He was more interested in crests, but frankly I’m interested in it all. It’s kind of a personal project.” 

He found the file he was looking for and passed her some paintings that looked amazingly realistic, although the subject matter was utterly unreal in nature. It didn’t look like any place she’d ever seen. “How were these painted?”

“They weren’t, it’s called photography, and we’re working to have it commercially available sometime in the next decade,” said Hubert unhelpfully. He paused, “It’s light burning onto chemical lined film. It gives a perfect capture of a scene.” Still unhelpful, typical Hubert.

“Where are these from?”

“I took them in a place called Shambhala. That’s where the Agarthans, the Slithers, based all their operations, literally underground in Southeast Fodlan.” He pulled out more photographs and laid them out. “They were doing experiments there, building weapons, generally being pieces of shit.” He took a deep breath “Mercedes and I lived there for two years, eight months. We had to leave in a rush. Remember Arianrhod?”

Dorothea nodded weakly, who could possibly forget that? Hubert smiled grimly, “Well, Mercedes and I did what was done to Arianrhod to Shambhala.”

Dorothea swallowed as she stacked the photographs and looked around at all the contraptions. Hubert pointed at the shelves, “I stole a ton of stuff from them. Anything I could get my hands on. Then we patented it, and that’s how we pay for the whole ministry.” He turned back to her, “There was more, but, not all of it was very safe to use. We blew the place up right at the end of ‘88, almost ‘89,” continued Hubert quietly. “Mercedes left spying for teaching after that, and I came back here.”

“What made her leave?” Dorothea still remembered everyone’s surprise that Mercie had reopened Garreg Mach. She seemed to be doing much better these days.

“Things got painful for us at the end,” said Hubert. “And when we were done, she was finished with spying and finished with me.”

“Were you and Mercedes together?” Dorothea didn’t know how else to read what he was saying.

“In a manner of speaking,” said Hubert dryly. “We pretended to be married as our cover, and we lived together as if we were together. Did all the things a typical married couple does. And at some point I forgot that we weren’t really married, but when the mission was over it was time to come back to real life.” Dorothea sensed there was a lot more to that story than he was saying. Hubert cleared his throat, “Long story short, I can’t have another partner that I’m in a fake relationship with, so it was easier to suggest I was paying you for the evening than to pretend we were on a date.”

Dorothea pursed her lips but declined to say anything. He sighed and stared at her, “Look, I shouldn’t have suggested that you and I work together, it was poor judgment on my part. I don’t work well with partners.” He paused and then promised, “I can get you into the next round of recruitments. I’ll give you a recommendation, but we don’t need to work together.”

“What if I don’t want to work on keeping down traditionalists in old Faerghus?” she asked as she looked at the photographs again. “What if I want to hurt these assholes instead?”

Hubert folded his arms and looked at her with great sadness, “No. I don’t want to risk my friendship with you. I am a real bastard when I’m Lord Vestra, and I don’t want to be that way towards you. This is something I do on my own because it’s dangerous.”

Dorothea shut her eyes as she saw this chance to get a chance to hurt the people who had hurt Edie, Lysithea, and Hubert, and by extension of her friendship with them, herself, slipping away, “Your cover wasn’t nice, but maybe it’s not completely hopeless.”

“It was pretty rude, even for me,” said Hubert, clearly not convinced.

Dorothea bit her lip, well once this secret was out, she could never put it back, “Men do pay me to go on dates sometimes.”

“Like as an escort?” asked Hubert hesitantly.

“Not an escort in the sense you’re thinking, I don’t have sex with them, but,” Dorothea drew in a short breath. “All I’m suggesting is that maybe this cover just needs work, not to be scrapped entirely.” She stared at him with a glint of challenge in her eyes, “You’re not the only one with a persona, and maybe Lord Vestra should meet mine.”

He watched her for a while, “Maybe. You'll have to give me an introduction.” He checked his watch, “Oh fuck, I do have work tomorrow morning, let’s go back up for now. We can pick this up when I’ve had time to think this over.”

When they got back upstairs Hubert lingered uncertainly in his doorway, “Would you be interested in sleeping next to each other?”

They hadn’t really ever slept next to each other. She cocked her head, “I thought you were just complaining about work in the morning.”

“I am talking about just sleeping,” promised Hubert.

Dorothea sighed because she didn’t have to worry about getting up early and if he tried anything he’d only be punishing himself. “Fine, let me get ready for bed.”

Dorothea loved her nightgown because it was perfectly breezy, the right weight, and pleasantly soft. It did not come on dates in an overnight bag. It did not leave her room. It was frumpy as hell, but she was bad at doing laundry in a timely manner and it was what she had. Hubert didn’t even bother to hide his laugh. Dorothea blushed, “Don’t be rude!”

“I’m sorry, that’s just not what I would picture you sleeping in,” said Hubert as he moved some pillows so that she could come and lay next to him. “You look like a sexy grandma.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she whispered. It was true, this was prime granny garb. Whatever, grannies knew what was up with being comfortable and were confident enough not to care what they looked like.

“Don’t worry, if you ever get old and ugly, you can rest knowing that somewhere I am older and uglier,” promised Hubert with a laugh.

“You’re the worst,” she hissed as she settled in next to him. She pulled his arm where she wanted it and Hubert drew in closer to her. He was warm, he was tender, he was a complete 180 from who he’d been as ‘Lord Vestra’ at the party. She was still having a little trouble reconciling that.

She paused, still bothered by the chill in his eyes at the Minister’s house. “I want to know more about this persona of yours, how would Lord Vestra make love to me?”

Hubert relaxed his hold on her, “He wouldn’t; he doesn’t make love, whatever that means, he just fucks.”

Dorothea was fascinated by this character. “So how would he fuck me?” She had heard Lord Vestra seduced both women and men, and no one was safe from his gaze. She had heard he would put them under a spell and then raze them with a punishing fucking. When they dared to start asking for it, begging him for it, that was when he would move onto his next affair. As Dorothea had heard it put, Lord Vestra was mad, bad, and dangerous to know.

Hubert sounded very reluctant, “I really don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

Dorothea didn’t exactly hold onto vivid memories of sleeping with Hubert in the past but he was very basic when they’d been together then and earlier in the evening. The most wild thing he did was maybe put a pillow under her back and hitch her feet up to his ears. It was hard for her to understand how Lord Vestra left heartbreak in his wake when Hubert was so polite and courteous even in the heat of the moment.

“Come on Lord Vestra,” she teased as she let her hands glide across his thighs. His legs weren’t the skinny little ones drowning in baggy pants they used to be, this was a man with a two hour commute by horse each day. She didn’t even have to squint anymore to see his abs. He wasn’t conventionally handsome by any stretch, and his scars were wince inducing, but it was like he had finally grown out of his awkwardness and into himself. She let her hand dance into his pants and started to stroke his cock, “I want to know why it’s said you give an experience that people are better off trying to forget but can’t.”

“You’re very persistent,” said Hubert as he let her work him back into a state of arousal. “Why should I give you this?”

“Because I want to see if the rumors are true,” she said as she rolled him back and pulled off his pants. Dorothea stared at him and then started to go down on him.

Hubert’s fingers raked through her hair as he took a tight hold of the back of her head. He lightly began to move her head, and then started to slowly pick up the intensity of his movements. Dorothea felt herself struggle to breathe just a bit as he pushed himself into her mouth a little too far for too long but in a moment it was over and he was dialing it back and then pulling her off entirely.

His eyes were disinterested as he looked at her, “Take off your nightgown.” He took it and folded it neatly and continued to look at her as if trying to memorize every aspect of her.

“He doesn’t like being seen, so he'll only ever be behind you.” Hubert whispered as turned off the light and then settled back in behind her. Dorothea’s heart raced with anticipation as his lips found her ears, “He prefers if you enjoy things, but that’s not strictly necessary.” One of his hands snaked down between her legs while the other focused in on a nipple. “He’ll always stop if you ask, but he might make you beg a little.”

Dorothea gasped in surprise as he pinched her and applied swift pressure against her clit. “Ow, Hubert —”

“It’s Lord Vestra,” he hissed in her ear without letting up in the intensity of his touch. Dorothea twisted in a mix of pleasure and discomfort at the force he was using. She moaned and that seemed to excite him as he rolled her over onto her stomach. He thrust inside her, his weight bearing down on her, and began to bump something deep within her that not of men were able to reach. His hand, still working her clit, was firm and she was reminded of the possessive touch he’d used earlier. His other hand came up and gripped her wrist, pushing it down into the bed. She clutched at the edge of the mattress as he pounded into her. It was as brutal as it was pleasurable.

“Is this what you really wanted from me?” His raspy voice was humorless and icy.

Dorothea pushed up against him with all her might onto all fours to get his weight off of her, “ _Yes_.”

That seemed to only increase the frenzied power he was using and Dorothea felt his hands wrapping around her hips to tightly hold onto her. She could feel her face tingling from the intensity of it all. She wasn’t doing her normal over the top moaning this time; she was gasping and sputtering as the sound of him slapping into her filled her ears. The way they moved together made it seem like her whole body belonged to him. She ceded away the last of her control and submitted to the sort of toe curling orgasm that she always aimed for but rarely got. The sound she made as it happened was embarrassing it was so guttural.

He pulled out of her fully without warning and she felt the warm splash of him cumming on her back. She wasn’t quite sure she was ready for it all to be over as her insides felt suddenly empty. Dorothea froze as she felt his tongue running up the small of her back to taste what he just left on her.

The light came on suddenly and Hubert was using a handkerchief clean her off, “I don’t know what I was thinking with that last bit.” He paused as if disgusted with himself. “I’m, I’m going to go brush my teeth again.”

Dorothea rolled over and stared at the ceiling in shock. She let her heart rate come back down as she took a few deep breaths. Sex with Hubert was usually a little slow and tender, with a big focus on kissing. Sex with Lord Vestra was definitely more about bruising her cervix and applying just too much pressure on highly sensitive skin.

She retrieved her nightgown and followed him into the bathroom. She felt light on her feet after it, and a deep dull ache that her body was still coming down from. It wasn’t the kind of sex she wanted all the time, but it was good to know Hubert had learned at least a few new tricks since they’d last been together.

“That’s Lord Vestra,” he said softly as he put his toothbrush down.

“I think I would prefer Hubert, most of the time, but Lord Vestra can certainly visit,” said Dorothea. She definitely could not handle that all the time.

“I don’t know, he’s a bit of a temperamental bastard,” said Hubert reluctantly.

Dorothea folded her arms, “Well, I’ve been called a dramatic bitch on occasion so maybe it’s time he met his match.” Perhaps her persona might be enough to conquer his.

Hubert’s lip lifted into his characteristic half smile and he kissed her on the head but said nothing to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mad, bad, and dangerous to know" is a quote from Lady Caroline Lamb describing her lover Lord Byron. They had a very volatile relationship, and I recommend the podcast Noble Blood which did an episode on Caroline Lamb.


	7. Uncle Hubert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the chapter that references a suicide attempt (not graphic) and subsequent institutionalization (more detailed/graphic).

Hubert had a standing appointment on Tuesdays at 3 pm to play chess. His opponent was eight years old. Florence von Aegir brightly looked up at him as he picked her up from her fancy Enbarr private primary school. “Hello Uncle Hubert!” she swung her little violin case in her hands as he held an umbrella over her violet head. She was Bernadetta’s sweetness combined with Ferdinand’s boisterousness and was utterly hilarious.

He was there every week because both Bernadetta and Ferdinand’s schedules were packed on Tuesdays and Hubert was free. Usually they walked to the park and played chess until about 4 at which point he would walk her home and stop in to take some tea with either Ferdinand or Bernadetta depending upon who was home first. It was a lovely reoccurring outing and Hubert had come to embrace the comfort and predictability of routines in his thirties.

Unfortunately it was raining, and during bad weather, they went to his apartment where he would make sure to have a snack for her while they played at his dining table. However, the weather had been so nice that little Florence hadn’t seen the place since Dorothea insisted on sprucing it up.

Florence’s jaw dropped, “Uncle Hubert, did you actually go shopping and buy stuff?” She dropped her violin case, which Hubert winced at hoping the instrument was safe, and tossed off her book bag at the door. After a few steps she remembered to kick off her wet shoes before going to jump on the couch. “It’s much bouncier than the last couch!”

It was quite a comfortable couch, especially for making out with Dorothea. Hubert didn’t really want Florence spending too much time jumping on the spot where he was now regularly doing Dorothea. It was really nice to be intimate with her again. He was still working on a safe way to make her a spy but unfortunately spying on Slithers wasn’t very safe. In the meantime he was figuring out how to get her on the payroll and into training without making it look like she’d just slept her way into a job. It wasn’t like that, but other people might not realize it and he wanted her starting on the right foot in the Ministry.

“Come on, we’re losing time for our game,” insisted Hubert as he got out the chess board.

“I’m going to beat you today,” announced Florence like she did at the start of every game.

Half an hour into it though her tiny brow furrowed and she was pouting, “You know, my dad usually lets me win.”

“Are you sure you’re not just beating him? I’m pretty sure your father is awful at this game,” said Hubert as he collected another one of her pieces. “I’m making you a better player.”

Florence slouched moodily against the table, as she carefully considered her next move. There were still opportunities for her to win, but she needed to find them.

The door opened to the penthouse and Dorothea walked in and did a confused double take, “Hello, um, what’s going on?”

Florence looked wide eyed at Dorothea and then back at Hubert with an accusatory stare, “Uncle Hubert, you have a girlfriend?”

Hubert had not expected an eight year old to make him blush with her interrogation. Hubert cleared his throat, “No Florence, this is, this is Aunt Dorothea, she’s known your parents as long as I have. We all went to school together. She’s not my girlfriend, she’s just visiting.”

“Oh, Florence von Aegir!” said Dorothea as she put it all together. She grinned at Hubert, “I didn’t realize you babysat.”

“I am not a baby, Ferdie is the baby,” grumbled Florence as she scowled at Dorothea.

Hubert attempted to smooth things over, “I help Bernadetta and Ferdinand out on Tuesdays, their schedules conflict with when school lets out. It’s not babysitting, it a weekly game of chess.”

Dorothea invited herself to watch, “Well don’t let me interrupt.” She sat a little too close to Hubert and he did not miss the eight year old’s dubious gaze.

“Not your girlfriend, _right_ ,” said Florence under her breath as she made her move.

Hubert scowled at her as he did his next move. He absolutely wouldn’t let her win after that comment. He should have never tried to make her so sarcastic.

Florence stared at Dorothea, “What are your intentions concerning my Uncle Hubert?”

Dorothea blanched at the question, “My intentions? I don’t have any—”

Florence shook her head as she moved again, “Well you better not make him sad again, sad Uncle Hubert is not very fun.”

Hubert felt a deep painful pang in his chest as he set Florence into checkmate, “That is enough of that, please.”

“Sad, again?” Asked Dorothea quietly. Hubert wished she would just ignore this as the ramblings of a child.

Florence collected all her pieces, “Yes. When he lived with us he was very sad. Mommy wouldn’t let him leave until he got happier again.”

Hubert felt like his carefully constructed defenses were falling down. He might have won the chess game but Florence had just won the conversation.

“You lived with the von Aegirs?” Dorothea was now intense in her questioning. “When?”

“I would prefer to have this conversation later,” said Hubert deftly as he got up and put away the chess board.

“Wait, we still have time for another game,” protested Florence. It was true, they were too early to return to the von Aegirs.

“No, I’m walking you home,” said Hubert.

“But, that’s too soon! I don’t want to wait with the nanny and Ferdie,” whined Florence.

Hubert put on his shoes and grumbled, “Then I’ll take you for ice cream.” Even though traitors didn’t deserve ice cream he had to get out of this apartment and away from Dorothea’s questioning looks.

**Flashback, Enbarr Asylum for the Disturbed, 1193**

“You have to let me see him,” Bernadetta’s voice carried through the hallway.

“He lashed out at a guard yesterday, he’s not permitted visitors,” argued the aid as he tried to keep her back. “He’s dangerous.”

“I’m dangerous,” growled Bernadetta as she pushed on through. She looked not dangerous at all; she was coming from dropping her daughter off at kindergarten. She was little, she was cute. Everyone saw her as an upper class Enbarr housewife, not a capable bow knight who’d killed Seteth during the war. She was a justice of the peace, she was fierce.

Hubert looked very scary right now, but he was all out of fight. Hubert was a man in a straight jacket staring at a wall because that was all he wanted to do. Beside him was a full on hallucination of Edelgard, “Ah, it looks like she’s pretty determined to see you. Maybe you could turn around today. You know she might stop coming if you keep ignoring her.”

“You’re not real,” whispered Hubert to Edelgard.

“Are you sure?” tried Edelgard. “I feel pretty real.” She pinched her own arm as if to demonstrate.

“You’re pretty dead,” he sighed as he closed his eyes. He couldn’t stop himself from hearing her, but he could at least stop himself from seeing her.

“You can’t bring those weapons back,” tried the aid.

“Weapons! They’re knitting needles,” hissed Bernadetta. “Plus you have him restrained, what’s he going to do? Bite at it through the bars?”

She got her way and ten minutes later was sitting at the entrance of Hubert’s unpleasant cell, knitting needles clicking away as she finished her scarf and caught him up on what everyone was doing out in Enbarr and beyond. She saw this arrangement as perfectly temporary because of course he was going to recover. Hubert was pretty sure he was going to die here.

Fake Edelgard sighed and paced around, “Are you going to bring up the funnel?”

“No,” muttered Hubert as he pressed his face against the wall. Fuck the funnel; no one here listened to him that he couldn’t eat that much. His stomach had been sliced open in the war, and the scar tissue hurt when it stretched, so he preferred little meals more frequently rather than a big meal once a day like they served here. That’s why he wasn’t eating everything they gave him, not because he was on some hunger strike. But no one listened to him here. He was crazy after all, why would they bother?

Then when the funnel came out of him, he’d start to vomit because, again, the tissue wouldn’t stretch to accommodate what they’d tried to force inside him. Then they’d blame him for doing this on purpose, which was not true at all. When he tried to fight them because it was the only way left he had to communicate that got any results, he was thoroughly beaten down because his captors were strong, and they’d made him very weak. Fuck the funnel.

“But they’re hurting you,” insisted Edelgard. “Bernadetta can probably make them stop.”

“This is what I deserve,” mumbled Hubert into the corner where Edelgard was standing. This was retribution for being too good at killing, but not good enough to end himself.

Bernadetta’s knitting needles had slowed, “Hubert? Are you trying to say something?”

“She wants to help,” said Edelgard. “Let her help!” At least this hallucination wanted the best for him. It could always be worse. When he’d killed his father, that auditory hallucination had been really mean.

“Hubert, please talk to me,” begged Bernadetta as she got as close to him as she could.

Hubert meant to say “Please go away,” but somehow all that came out was very quiet, “Help.”

Hubert didn’t know what the fuck to do as he sat in the von Aegir’s kitchen. Bernadetta was still complaining about him ruining Florence’s dinner with an ice cream cone as she brewed up a small pot of coffee and a large pot of tea.

He held his head in his hands as he kept himself composed. Bernadetta turned around, “What is wrong with you?”

Hubert pulled his head up, “Florence met _Aunt_ Dorothea this afternoon, and mentioned to her that I used to live here.”

“Oh,” said Bernadetta quietly as she passed him his coffee and took her tea. “What did you tell Dorothea?”

“I didn’t tell her anything because I don’t know what to say,” sighed Hubert.

“You could try the truth,” suggested Bernadetta meekly.

“Oh right, of course, let’s see,” started Hubert angrily. He pretended he was speaking with Dorothea, “Hey, remember when you fled Enbarr for that tour after Edie died? Well funny thing, while you did that, I tried to off myself and landed in an insane asylum.”

“Please Hubert, not so loud,” whispered Bernadetta as she swallowed uncomfortably.

Hubert felt bad, he did not want Florence accidentally overhearing anything about his suicide attempt. He did not want to talk to anyone about it ever, but he could not undo the past. Bernadetta reached out and put a comforting hand over top his. “You were grieving, deeply. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

Hubert actually remembered feeling crystal clear in his thinking, but it comforted Bernadetta to believe the narrative that he had lost his mind in his grief so he did not correct her. She had been the one who had bravely come to visit him daily when he was institutionalized, even though he was far from able to receive visitors. She had been the one to watch how he was deteriorating in that pit and insisted on taking the risk of bringing him home with her.

He had lived with Ferdinand and Bernadetta for almost a year while they managed his life, put up with his long brooding silences, and patiently guided him into living on his own without Edelgard. Ferdinand had even got him an appointment in the imperial cabinet as a formal spy master so that Hubert would have something familiar to focus on. They had established routines for him: exercise, a regular sleep schedule, balanced meals. They even enlisted Florence as their little spy as he met with her each week. They made him hire an assistant to share the load so he didn’t overburden himself. He came over for dinner often. They encouraged him to get out and date, which had prompted Lord Vestra’s illicit string of affairs that they clearly felt guilty for unleashing on Enbarr. Most importantly, they keep the whole thing a secret from everyone so that no one would know that when Edelgard died, Hubert had decided he ought to be dead too.

**Flashback, von Aegir Enbarr Townhome, 1193**

Hubert was wearing the clothes that had been taken from him when he was taken to the institution almost four months ago. His funeral garb hung from him like his body was more or less a coat rack, and there was a lot of blood dried up on the fabric. His head was roughly shaved down to almost no hair at all to stop him from getting lice, and the skin around his ankles was rubbed raw from his restraints. He shook when he stood because his muscles were faded away and he hadn’t been moving around very much in his cell.

Florence von Aegir had inherited her mother’s trademark “eek!” which she had uttered when she saw him, a deranged looking stranger, standing in the foyer. Ferdinand quickly led Hubert up the stairs while Bernadetta contained the frightened child and tried to explain that this was just Uncle Hubert and he was going to stay with them for a while. Florence started crying and asked that he not be given her room, while Bernadetta assured her nothing was changing and everything would be nice, and this is what family did. They took care of each other.

“How about a bath,” suggested Ferdinand. Hubert flinched at the suggestion. He felt grimy and disgusting, but bathing in the asylum consisted of being stripped and held by firm hands while some icy water was dumped on him. They’d scrub him with some rough brushes and soap that made his skin break out in a rash that he couldn’t scratch at because of the restraints they put him back in. Baths were a scary notion.

Hubert was sitting on the floor of the bathroom listlessly staring at the tile while Ferdinand filled the tub. Ferdinand tied back his hair, not as long as in the war but still a flowing mane, and rolled up his sleeves. He made Hubert get up and started taking off his clothes. He didn’t shy away at the sight of all the scars. He didn’t look repulsed by the state of Hubert’s back, which had been where the Agarthans had whipped him and dripped acid on his wounds years ago. He didn’t comment on the sores, or the rash, or the big fresh scar up Hubert’s left arm that hadn't healed very well because no one was paying much attention to the wound.

The von Aegir’s tub didn’t look scary, and the water was a little steamy. Hubert started to relax. Ferdinand made him get in but then he didn’t leave. Instead, Ferdinand patiently scrubbed away the dirt and grime, and just talked about whatever while gently scrubbing until every inch of Hubert was clean. All the while Hubert sat silent thinking about how he had bathed Edelgard as she got sicker and sicker, and wondering if it were possible that someone else could possibly love Hubert in the way that he had loved her. Hubert had wept at that thought because it was not something he ever thought he would have, but here he clearly did from Ferdinand and Bernadetta.

Hubert and Dorothea ate in near silence that night. He had cooked for her to distract himself from the coming conversation and had helped himself to perhaps too much wine as he did it. Now he was drinking coffee on the couch trying to sober up as he faced her stare.

Dorothea broke the silence, she had never done well with quiet, “Are you going to tell me about living with Ferdie and Bernie?”

Hubert sighed and nodded. He decided to start from the beginning, “You probably remember how distant I was at Edelgard’s funeral.”

“Yes, you were literally quite distant,” said Dorothea.

“I was in the midst of a very serious mental breakdown,” said Hubert quietly. He drank more coffee as he let that information sink in. “What do you do when your other half dies and leaves you behind?”

Hubert let the question hang in the air without an answer. “I never expected to outlive her, never made a careful plan for what to do when my world ended. I thought for sure I would lay down my life in her service, and never have to deal with losing her.” Hubert stared at his coffee as if watching a terrible scene playing out in its dark depths. “When she died, I washed her one last time and got her into the clothes she would be buried in. I didn’t trust anyone to put the care into it that I would. I didn’t want anyone else to see how broken her body had become, how frail she was in the end. I planned out her funeral because I knew exactly how she wanted it.”

He looked up at Dorothea. “I sat alone up in the loft of the throne room to watch, choking back my fear heights to avoid having to speak with anyone or be seen. I watched as the procession took her casket to the mausoleum. And when it all was done and everyone was gone I went and I sat by the entrance.” Hubert sighed, “It was sealed, as it should have been, but I considered bribing an undertaker to open it up and lock me in.”

“Hubie,” started Dorothea weakly as his confession came out.

“I looked at you all during the funeral and marveled at how happily your lives were turning out,” whispered Hubert. “You were traveling Fodlan, singing and acting, beloved by all. Ferdinand and Bernadetta had each other and their growing family. Mercedes had reopened Garreg Mach with Linhardt, Caspar, and the professor there teaching. Petra,” he paused and sighed, “Petra found herself a real true love and they were making Brigid even more beautiful than before.”

Hubert loosened his cuff links, and opened up the base of his sleeve, “All I could see was how lost I was without her there to follow. Edelgard had left a great big gaping hole in me when she died. How do you love someone like that for nearly your entire life without being obliterated by their loss? I felt I had no identity without her, so if she was dead, I ought to be too.” He pulled up his left sleeve and traced his fingers over the failed attempt to kill himself, “I did it right on the steps to her tomb because it was as close as I could get to her. But, alas, when you attempt to kill yourself in a public place there’s a high risk of being rescued.” Maybe he had known that when he did it, but maybe he hadn’t, he wasn’t really sure.

He couldn’t look at Dorothea, he didn’t want to see her reaction, “I was institutionalized for months. I was restrained to stop myself from hurting myself or others, and I was force fed when I refused to eat.” The memories of the funnel being forced down his throat still seized him with panic years later. He had been almost tortured to death by the Agarthans when his cover was blown in Shambhala, but memories about the asylum somehow elicited more fear. Perhaps it was because Shambhala was buried, but the threat of being institutionalized was a constant possibility.

“It felt right in a sick kind of way to be kept in a little cell, tied up like an animal, given everything that I’ve done. It felt like retribution for a life spent causing pain unto others.” Hubert pulled his sleeve back down and stared impassively at Dorothea, “It was Bernadetta who insisted I be released into her and Ferdinand’s care. I was only getting worse in the asylum. I don’t think I would have made it much longer if she hadn’t pulled me out.”

“How long were you living with them?”

“Almost a year, roughly,” whispered Hubert.

They were a touchy-feely family that expressed their love often and openly. Hubert had been caught severely off guard when Florence von Aegir, in her purple pigtails and ribbon adorned nightgown had kissed her father good night, kissed her mother good night, and then, after taking many weeks to fully warm up to the scary man living in their attic had announced, “Good night Uncle Hubert,” and kissed him on the cheek too because that is what one did with close family members when it was time for bed.

“I’m not going to pretend I’m cured, but I’m much better than I was.” He finished his coffee, “So, yes, I babysit their children to whom I am grouchy but hopefully lovable Uncle Hubert. It’s the least I can do after all I owe them.”

Dorothea reached out and pulled the coffee from his fingers to put it down on the coffee table. She pulled herself around him and rested against his chest, “Hubert, I had no idea.”

Hubert wasn’t sure what he had expected her to do but he appreciated the hug as he let his arms wrap around her. She started to sob quietly into his chest which he was at a loss to understand, “Dorothea, what is it?”

“What?” she murmured defensively as she pulled back and wiped her eyes, “I’m not allowed to cry at the idea losing you?”

Hubert pushed her silky brown hair back behind her ear and stared at her eyes, which were a touch bloodshot. He didn’t mean to cause her any pain, but the words he needed were not easy to find. “You’re allowed to cry about whatever you want.” He paused, “I just don’t enjoy being the cause of it.”

“Well tough shit,” she whispered defiantly as she settled back into his chest. “You don’t get to control how I feel about you.”

“I would never dream of trying,” said Hubert as he held her holding him.

***

The next time Hubert volunteered to babysit so that Ferdinand and Bernadetta could have a much needed night out, Dorothea decided to join him. It had been a couple hours and Dorothea was impressed by how well things were going. It was almost endearing to watch Hubert hold back and allow Florence gain the upper hand in the chess game. Little Ferdinand wasn’t even fussy now that he was fed and ready for bed. Dorothea relaxed, and dared to enjoy the domestic bliss surrounding her.

It was short lived. Dorothea felt a swift tug at her ear and then a sharp pain as Ferdie pulled her dangling earring through her ear lobe. She yelped and did all she could not to curse as tears welled up in her eyes from the sudden pain. Ferdie threw the earring to the ground and started to cry as he reached for her other earring. Dorothea quickly shifted him away and unhooked it before he could try that again.

Florence looked absolutely horrified, “Aunt Dorothea’s ear is bleeding.”

Hubert gave her a stern look, “Florence, I need you go get me a wet cloth. And remember to turn off the faucet when you’re done this time. We don’t need another repeat of the great flood of 1194.”

Florence nodded and dashed towards the bathroom.

Hubert came over and inspected the torn ear. “Well, I was never very good at white magic, but I think I can fix this.” The way he said it did not fill her with much confidence.

“Just do it,” she said as she shut her eyes. Dorothea whimpered as she felt the sharp sensation of the torn flesh rejoining. Hubert plucked Ferdie from her lap as Florence returned with a damp towel. It was freezing, which helped to numb her now swelling ear.

“How attached are you to your brother?” Hubert asked Florence dryly.

Florence smirked, “Not especially, but my parents might miss him.”

“Then I suppose we must not remove him,” grumbled Hubert as he sat and set the child on his legs. “I’m afraid you’ve given me no choice.” He proceeded to play peek-a-boo with the youngest Aegir, causing the boy to break down in frightened crying at the sight of Hubert’s grim visage.

Dorothea took Ferdie back, “Stop scaring him.” She soothed the petulant baby in a sing-songy voice, “Uncle Hubert is the worst, some say his face is cursed.”

Hubert rolled his eyes at her impromptu lyrics as he retrieved the fallen earring from beneath the sofa, “I think it might be broken.” Hubert was looking at the pieces, “I could probably get it fixed.”

Dorothea had really liked that pair of earrings, but it looked really broken, “It would cost more to fix them then they originally cost.” The stones were all fake anyway, she liked really flashy earrings but also not spending money. Ferdie’s crying had become more of an upset lip quivering. She rocked him as she continued to soothe him, “I think someone is ready to go to sleep.”

Hubert checked his watch and then looked at Florence in fake horror, “It is _way_ past your bed time.”

Florence groaned as he gave her marching orders: pajamas, teeth brushed, book picked for reading.

Hubert straightened up the toys while Dorothea went into the bathroom and cleaned the blood off her neck. Hubert’s healing job had been okay, but there was a little white scar on her earlobe. She sighed as she wondered if she was going to have to re-pierce her ear after it was done swelling, what a pain.

Hubert had poured her a glass of Ferdinand’s wine, which Dorothea accepted as payment for having been assaulted by Ferdie Jr. They toasted each other. Hubert sighed, “Well I try to avoid bloodshed when babysitting, but sometimes you just can’t get around it.”

“Well it was nice while it was peaceful,” admitted Dorothea. She drank some more wine, “What do you think about kids?”

Hubert was very quiet and then deflected to sarcasm, “Necessary for the survival of our species.”

“So you don’t want any,” supplied Dorothea.

Hubert sighed, “I didn’t say that, I just, there are other things that are typically expected to fall into place prior to having children that I do not see myself taking part in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh please don’t be dense,” whispered Hubert, not unkindly just more exasperated. “I’m not really marriage material.” He folded his arms moodily, “What about you?”

“I used to, badly, but, I don’t know anymore,” admitted Dorothea. She sipped her wine, she had never told anyone else this that she was getting lukewarm on marriage and motherhood. “I mean I still do want children, but I’ve realized I can’t try to force all the pieces to fall in place any more. If that makes sense.”

“Sometimes things just don’t work out like you planned,” said Hubert as he poured himself more wine. Wasn’t that the truth.


	8. The Resurrection of Lord Vestra

**Enbarr, 1193**

Lord Vestra was for all intents and purposes either dead or on a very extended vacation. He’d left Enbarr in 1190 and no one had seen him since. The old Emperor was dead, there was a big funeral, and Lord Vestra wasn’t there. He’d never miss that, therefore, he must be gone for good. If only enemies of the state were so lucky.

***

Hubert wasn’t crazy. Super depressed for sure, but he was at least sane enough to recognize a hallucination for what it was. He still heard Edelgard sometimes, usually only when he was very tired, but once he left the asylum for the von Aegirs she had waved him goodbye and said “See you’re not alone without me,” and he never saw her again. She didn’t visit him any more and according to her, she was taking tea with Lysithea von Ordelia. Lysithea had mercifully visited only once in the asylum to say, “You’re pathetic! Get up.” When he didn’t, she groaned and called him a big baby. His dead father didn’t deign to grace him with his presence, and Hubert was grateful for that. Edelgard promised she’d have coffee ready for him when it was finally time for him to come to tea with her and Lysithea, but that he shouldn’t rush to get there. Hubert vaguely wished that afterlife was real but was pretty sure it was all in his head.

***

The von Aegir’s attic had been very hastily converted into a bedroom for him. He slept in a single bed with a quilt clearly made from scraps that Bernadetta could not bear to waste. It was crazy and chaotic looking, and Hubert liked his little space quite a bit. Yet this was still also very much a storage room. It was all the stuff they couldn’t get rid of, but didn’t have anywhere else to put. Hubert found it appropriate that this was where he landed.

During his occupation of their attic, Hubert perused the books in boxes that were too dangerous for a little six year old running around and learning to read to accidentally pick up. Bernadetta clearly had specific tastes in reading material. High brow romance novels bound in leather, tatter paperback low brow romance novels, and surprisingly a whole set of penny dreadful erotica pamphlets lovingly collected and cataloged. Hubert read them all. They were formulaic and many were pretty terrible (though he did unfortunately get hooked on an in progress series that he was now eagerly awaiting the next volume of), and Hubert noticed an interesting pattern. There was often a terrible secret held close to one of the character’s chests, and after being successfully romanced, these secrets would spill out to the person the character had just trusted with their heart. That was a very intriguing notion, and could something like that work outside the pages of a romance novel? Hubert might be out of the game, but he would always be a spy.

***

“What do you do, what’s your job?” asked Florence von Aegir suspiciously as she ate her afternoon snack. She had just learned how to write her name and big crayoned letters stating “I am Florence von Aegir” were all over the place. When it became clear Hubert wasn’t leaving, and he might actually be permanent, Florence had decided she ought to stop hiding from him and try to figure out why he was here and why her parents had gotten this strange pet instead of a dog like she wanted.

Hubert drank some coffee and looked at her in silence because he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have a job. Bernadetta and Ferdinand were trying to find things for him to do to keep him busy, and to give him something to focus on. He was volunteering at a soup kitchen helping to cook. He was knitting little hats and blankets for babies at orphanages to keep his hands busy. He was writing letters to dead people because Bernadetta thought that might be a good way to express his feelings. He was writing them in code because he didn’t want anyone to read them and codes helped keep his mind sharp and clear. However, Edelgard was gone and so Hubert had no job.

“Uncle Hubert hunts monsters,” said Bernadetta as she offered Hubert some carrot sticks. He passed because he never got brave enough to eat raw vegetables after his injuries in the war.

“You hunt monsters?” Florence was six but even she knew this was not a normal adult job.

“Mmhmm,” hummed Hubert. “There were a bunch in your attic, I had to clear them out. I’m sticking around so they don’t come back.” He gave her a smirk, “I think I got them all, but, let me know if you find any under your bed.” Florence had glared in alarm and quietly took her carrot sticks into another room. From then on she would try to discreetly follow him around the house and try to catch him in the act of catching a monster. This led to Hubert checking coat closets and the pantry often and muttering, “All clear.”

Slithers were monsters and Hubert had killed a bunch but he hadn’t killed them all. However, as he browsed the newspaper after Bernadetta was done with the crossword everyday he could not help but linger on articles — suspicious deaths, mysterious thefts, politicians flip flopping on policy issues with no apparent reason — and not help but see that something was off in Enbarr. Maybe the capital still had use for him after all.

**Enbarr, 1194**

The headquarters of Fodlan’s intelligence agency had been bombed. It was in the papers as a gas leak but Hubert knew that building well. This was retribution for Shambhala. A lot of good people had died, some that Hubert himself had hired many years ago, and a lot of information had been lost in the ensuing fire. The research and stolen items Hubert had given to Hanneman were luckily in storage off site, but the intelligence agency was in a state of chaos. They had moles to find, funerals to plan, and needed a new building to occupy.

“I was suppose to retire soon,” sighed Hanneman. “Now I have to figure out how to rebuild. We lost nearly three quarters of our people.” Hanneman was devastated this had happened on his watch. He was a good researcher, and good teacher, but he’d gotten this job because Edelgard and Hubert had a lot of trust in him not because he was naturally good at the work. Hubert was here in his office at Parliament as a free lance consultant because he was very naturally good at this work.

Hubert drummed his fingers on the desk as he thought it all over. This was bad, something needed to change. He recommended to Hanneman a full restructure, which Hanneman groaned at because that was a life’s work, not a job for someone pushing 70. Hubert had to agree and asked Hanneman to think about who he wanted to replace him. He offered to help vet candidates and scout a new location.

Hubert left the meeting with Hanneman feeling rather daunted. There were Slithers still operating, still trying to rebuild. Apparently exterminating their nest wasn’t enough, and they were like a cancer metastasizing through Fodlan with Enbarr as their new base. It made it feel like nothing he had done mattered in the end because he’d only slowed them down, and hadn’t stopped them in the slightest. They’d used his absence as a chance to grow back after he killed their leader and bombed their home.

He stopped to buy a coffee from the small cafe stand that was open just in the entry way of the main governmental building. Politicians and their aids needed hot tea and pastries too, but what a difference it was from the days of Ioniux IX. Hubert could barely see the ghosts of his childhood home in these now unfamiliar halls. Hubert stared at the big statue of Edelgard dominating the entrance and shook his head, she hated that stupid thing but other people loved it so she let it stand.

The cashier didn’t want to accept his coins. Hubert glanced up and saw the man was saluting him, “For you sir, it’s free. Welcome home to Enbarr, _Death_.” He hadn’t heard his code name used in many years.

This wasn’t a Imperial soldier from the war for unification. This was a different kind of soldier in a much quieter war, “Miasma?” Hubert no longer remembered his name, only his handle. He was an original, one of the first spies Hubert had recruited, from back when they were still using tomes as code names and the spy ring was ten people instead of closer to a hundred.

The cashier smiled at the recognition, and gestured for Hubert to join him over coffee as he took his break.

“Are you still active?” asked Hubert in confusion. This seemed like a pretty grim job follow-up after risking ones life for years as a spy.

“Enbarr’s where the action is,” said Miasma. “This tea stall is the hottest placement in the agency right now.”

“Congratulations,” said Hubert as he looked around the grand entrance to Parliament. Here little meetings were happening, aids were gossiping as they got their beverages, people were dropping papers. The mail came in here. If anyone suspicious was regularly visiting they were going to have to pass through this atria. It did seem like a pretty sweet spot, maybe he would have to stop to enjoy some coffee here more often.

“Are you back?” Miasma sounded hopeful.

“Just consulting,” whispered Hubert as he considered Hanneman’s retirement. Could he just bounce right back in? That was going to take pulling some strings. He’d been gone for a while, why would they just let him back in to this organization he’d firmly abandoned in favor of his Emperor? He barely knew his way around this remodeled building, barely knew his way around politics in their present state. He felt too far removed from it all to do anything meaningful.

“Too bad,” muttered Miasma. Well, maybe they would let him back in. Maybe they did need him.

***

Hubert hired a tailor because his style had always veered pretty militant and frankly that look was very out in peace time following a brutal war. Ferdinand’s style was very flashy and stylish. Hubert consented to allowing Ferdinand to pick out some fabrics and make some recommendations. If he was going to be taken seriously, he had dress seriously.

“You need a signature color,” said Ferdinand knowingly. “Dorothea and I like red, Bernadetta loves purple.” Edelgard had loved red, Lysithea had loved purple. Hubert shook those thoughts away.

Hubert sighed, “Black.”

Ferdinand wrinkled his nose, “That’s more of your neutral, and that’s the absence of color! You need—”

“Dark green,” said Hubert moodily because it was essentially black.

“That’ll go with your eyes,” said Ferdinand unhelpfully as he picked out some dark brocades. Hubert’s color scheme after much back and forth became dark green, charcoal, and black and he dared Ferdinand to see what he would do to him if von Aegir kept suggesting orange. Ferdinand helped him pick out accessories in white gold because apparently it was bad form to mix metals. Hubert was drawn to some knives that went in boots and Ferdinand worked hard to steer him towards cuff links, tie clips, and some new gloves. Hubert didn’t want white gloves anymore, his hands weren’t clean enough to wear something so unsoiled. He chose black leather to help hide the blood.

Ferdinand forced him to model the new clothes when they were finished many weeks later. His feet were sore from breaking in his stupid leather shoes because apparently his boots reminded people of marching to war. Boots hid knives, brogues just hurt his toes. The suit however did look good and he had to begrudgingly admit that Ferdinand had great taste.

“I think these pants are too tight,” grumbled Hubert wishing for the days when he had giant pockets.

“But this is what’s in style!” protested Ferdinand in his much tighter pants.

“You look sharp,” smiled Bernadetta. Hubert could accept that; sharp was good, blades were sharp. “I’d say yes to a date with you if I was single.” That was actually a big compliment from her considering the way she used to faint at the sight of his face.

Hubert sighed; the von Aegirs were afraid he was lonely, they wanted him to go out and meet someone, settle down with a partner. “I’m not the hero in one of your books up in the attic, I’m the villain.”

Bernadetta turned bright red, “Hubert! You can’t just go reading people’s private book collections.”

Hubert sneered at her embarrassment and then let her have some of his own, “Promise to lend me the next installment of _Dark and Dangerous_ when it comes out and I’ll never bring it up again.”

Hubert got a briefcase because apparently giant pockets were out, but he still had a bunch of killing implements to carry and maybe a saucy book or two.

***

With the Prime Minister’s backing, Hanneman’s support, and a detailed budget funded by patents from technology that Hubert had straight up stolen from the Agarthans and used to usher in modernity to Fodlan, Hubert went to parliament and advocated for a complete overhaul of the intelligence agency. It needed a real name, it needed a new location, and it needed a massive review of all its remaining employees. It needed a director who had a lot of time to devote to work because he had no family, and had very few friends. The Ministry of Whispers was born, and Hubert hand picked fifteen trusted, vetted agents that were going to come with him when he reopened Edelgard’s empty estate in the country. He also had an agent in the field following up on the last known sighting of Felix Hugo Fraldarius, code name Mire, to see if he was interested in getting back into Slither killing or at least getting a paycheck for it.

“You still need an assistant Hubert,” Ferdinand reminded him. Ferdinand had multiple assistants and aids that ran around on his behalf. He didn’t want to miss Florence growing up, so he couldn’t be working all the time.

“Must I hire one?” Hubert folded his arms, he didn’t really work well with others. He was more suited to being alone.

“Yes, you must, or we’ll never let you move out,” threatened Ferdinand.

Hubert sighed because he’d already bought a building around the corner where he could sleep if he stayed in the city. He was in the process of moving the agency’s evidence and research there and had his agents temporarily stationed in empty apartments they were converting into safe houses for assets when they were in Enbarr. It was an unassuming building and the agents for all intents and purposes looked like tenants going about their lives.

Hubert didn’t want to waste time training an assistant on how to do their job, mostly because he was unfamiliar with these halls. He knew the imperial palace better than most people, but a lot had changed, he had a lot to relearn. So he had Miasma, now his deputy, make a list of potential candidates — people that checked out and were not secret slithers, people that could be trusted to keep their mouths shut, and most of all people that were loyal. Hubert’s trusted agents vetted them one by one, saw who cracked, who wasn’t a good fit, and gave him a short list of five people to interview to poach away from their current positions.

Hubert decided to watch them first as he quietly drank his coffee in the atria. He was camped out all day, taking notes on his marks. They all seemed equally good but unfortunately he’d have to try to ask them to leave the people they served so well. He’d have to figure out which candidate was likely to defect to his new ministry, he wanted someone who would be grateful for the chance, not resentful that Lord Vestra had just disrupted their career trajectory. So far, not so good.

Then he saw a man he did not like, the current Deputy Minister of Finance, just berating his assistant. This poor clerk was someone who’d come up as a potential candidate but didn’t make the short list. The reason not to hire him given by the agent who’d evaluated him was: “Socially inept, very annoying.” Personality aside, he seemed pretty innocuous and definitely not a slither. They’d followed these candidates for days, vetted their families and friends, even broke into a few apartments. This guy apparently rented a small room, spent most of his time at work, and didn’t have a social life at all. No partner, no friends, no family in Enbarr. Just a normal commoner who came to the big city and wanted to work in Parliament because he was a kid when the revolution happened and Edelgard’s reforms had captured his young impressionable heart. He apparently just really believed in the merit based system and wanted to do whatever he could to be a part of it, which was probably why he had no friends because that’s all he wanted to talk about and most people thought that was pretty boring. According to the dossier, his supervisor was overheard bragging about attempting to bully the assistant into quiting to avoid having to give him a severance.

“This is the wrong font for these memos, I want it redone,” declared the Deputy Minister.

“Yes sir. Sans serif is supposed to be quicker to read, but I will get it changed as soon as possible,” said the assistant as he looked at the massive stack of efficiently typeset memos. “Here’s your tea.”

“I don’t want Bergamot, I want green tea instead.”

“I’m sorry, you asked for Bergamot,” started the assistant apologetically.

“Well I don’t want it anymore,” snapped the Deputy Minister. “Can’t you do anything right?” He grabbed at the papers in the assistants hand, causing the unwanted Bergamot to spill to the floor. “Wonderful,” hissed the Deputy, “Now my shoes are soaked.”

The assistant couldn’t be much more than 20. He was gangly and kind of ugly and clearly very embarrassed as he dropped to the ground to hurry and clean up the mess. Hubert saw this scene unfolding and saw himself at eleven when Edelgard was gone to Faerghus. Hubert’s father was working for von Aegir Sr. and a whole mess of Slithers, so Hubert worked for them too. The dark mages he was assigned to assist were dicks who didn’t want a little anxious kid around, and taunted Hubert whenever his father wasn’t present. They gaslighted him, asking him to bring them things and then pretending they’d never asked for it. They’d send him on increasingly ridiculous scavenger hunts to acquire weird or illegal things, or just things that were inappropriate to ask an eleven year old to go find, like dark mage pornography which was pretty violent and featured a lot of blood and bindings.

If he didn’t do as they asked, if he stood up for himself against their bullshit, they’d start to tell him all the things they were doing to the poor Hresvelg children presently being kept beneath the basement, beneath Hubert’s bedroom. He heard the children screaming louder when he didn’t follow orders. So he followed every command to the letter and put up with the humiliation because there wasn’t any other choice. When it stopped being errands and started being removing people, because Hubert’s father was training him to take care of that too, Hubert complied because he knew they were already down three Hrsevelg children and he didn’t want to be responsible for any more. Maybe if he just removed the right person, they’d stop removing all his friends.

Sure, harassing an assistant about fonts and tea blends was hardly on the same level, but it was still same awful tactics aimed at breaking someone down and humiliating them. It was meant make them feel like they were the problem when they clearly weren’t. Hubert didn’t care for bullies, and unfortunately for them he wasn’t the bigger person and rather liked to bully them back.

Hubert sighed and finished up his coffee. The Deputy Minister flinched at Hubert’s sudden appearance, good, Hubert’s reputation was still just as bad as ever. Hubert’s voice was dry and unamused, “What’s the problem here?”

“No problem, it’s none of your concern,” said the Deputy. “Just my clumsy assistant.”

Hubert helped himself to the papers in the Deputy’s hand so the man could wring out his tea soaked pant legs, “These are for your boss?”

“Yes, Minister—” he didn’t get to finish the name as Hubert dropped the papers into the tea spill. “What on earth? I need those for a meeting in fifteen minutes!”

“Go print some more then,” said Hubert as he stared at the Deputy Minister. “You seemed to think there was time to change the font. Surely there’s time to reprint them.” Hubert could only imagine how long it would take to get the printing press going especially if there was a queue, and there was always a queue.

The assistant looked up at Hubert with just utter defeat in his eyes at the idea of having to reprint all of those memos in an impossible time frame. The Deputy stammered and then looked at his assistant, “What are you waiting for?”

“No,” said Hubert sternly as he got his own paperwork out. “He doesn’t work for you anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

Hubert showed him the freshly signed document that named him Minister of Whispers and gave him license to conscript the help he needed to establishing this new ministry branch. “I need an assistant, and he looks good to me. So I’m taking him.”

“You can’t just steal my assistant,”

“I just did,” shrugged Hubert. “If you really want to get him back, have the Minister of Finance contact me. I would just love to have a conversation with him about you and how you treat the people under your charge.”

He drove the deputy off with a glare and offered his hand to pull up the assistant, “What’s your name?”

“I’m F-Fritz,” said the assistant, clearly blindsided by all that had just happen. “Who are you, sir?”

“Call me Lord Vestra.” Lord Vestra was back, and any shit stain Slithers and corrupt politicians in Enbarr better watch the fuck out.

***

He had a new look, he had a new super eager assistant, and he had a new ministry setting up shop in his estate. He had two more thing he needed to do. For the first, Bernadetta’s smutty collection of books had given him a very dangerous idea. He knew how he was going to get into powerful people’s homes, and he knew how he was going to extract secrets about them. So when he sent everyone home for a long holiday weekend, Hubert stayed behind at the estate and two more people arrived discreetly by carriage.

They were an attractive couple, a man and a woman, and they were on the clock. Lord Vestra told them the truth, that he had only slept with three different women in his life, all of whom he’d loved. Now he needed to learn how to be with people he didn’t know, and didn’t love. He needed to learn how to separate feelings from sex, and also needed to learn how to pleasure people in more exciting ways because if Hubert was being honest he was a pretty basic lover. He paid this couple for their bodies and for their discretion. He paid them for their instruction as he learned how to do all the things described in Bernadetta’s addicting novels.

The first night started out pretty rocky as they tried to train him in how to pick up people and make the first move. Hubert was awkward and stiff but determined to learn. He was especially bad when it came to holding the man instead of the woman. Men were hard, Hubert was used to something softer. It wasn’t that he was averse to it, he was quite open to it, he just had no idea what he was doing.

Hubert hadn’t had any sex at all in five years, and he had never been intimate with a man. He’d thought about it, but his available options were pretty limited because he didn’t know what to look for or what to say. And so after the woman had gone to sleep for the night, her husband had given Hubert a sympathetic look and glass of wine, “Let me take the lead, you need to see how it feels so you can do better.”

So Hubert had let go of his need for control and let this man have his way with him. One he learned how to take, he got a lot better at giving. It reminded him of something a loud annoying person had once told him, that she thought loving someone was about wanting to be loved in return. Maybe, pondered Hubert, it was important not just to give your love to someone but to be willing to receive it back. He loved a lot of people, but he was really poor about letting himself believe they actually cared about him. That was something that these two prostitutes couldn’t teach him, but maybe he could keep working on that slowly with Ferdinand and Bernadetta. Maybe someday he might even be able to have a partner again.

When the long weekend was done, Lord Vestra was toasted by the couple for all his progress, and for their big paycheck. Lord Vestra smiled slightly and ignored how sore he was, and was just happy that he'd figured out how finally weaponize his bisexuality. He had lonely husbands and wives, mistresses and misters, to identify and seduce because their partners had secrets Lord Vestra wanted. He had Slithers to find, seditious people to put down, and scheming crest-traditionalists to sweep away, and he was going to sneak into their bedrooms to catch them. No one was safe from Lord Vestra.

***

The last thing was a monument. Not a public one, but one for the Ministry. It was a big black stone erected in the garden so that everyone could glimpse it out their office windows or come and see it on their lunch break. Hubert didn’t care for gravestones, but other people did. So he put all the names of everyone he knew who had been killed by the actions of the Agarthans so everyone was reminded each day why they did this job.

Every Hservelg child. Every Hyrm child. Every Ordelia child. Victims of the Tragedy of Duscar. The people of Duscar. The people in Arianrhod. All the names and handles of the agents who died when their headquarters were bombed. All the people he had known personally that had been killed in one way or another by the Slithers and their scheming. _Jeralt Eisner, 1180; Emile von Bartels, 1183; Dedue Molinaro, 1186; Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, 1186; Emilie von Vestra, 1188; Lysithea von Ordelia, 1189; Edelgard von Hservelg, 1193_.

He knew it wasn’t all of them. He knew he’d never know all of them. He gave his ministry a motto that he had carved in the top, “Be the light in the dark.” Beneath it they now had a proper seal: an eye, much like the one that sat in the heart of every dark magic circle, because nothing bad was going to escape their gaze.

He usually took lunch in the gardens. Hubert had never been one to pray because he didn’t have any gods to talk to, but he liked tracing the names of the people he missed and making promises to them. His fingers lingered on Emilie, his daughter with Mercedes that had been born far too prematurely because she was conceived in awful place filled with dark magic. “No more dead kids,” he promised her.

**Enbarr, present day, 1196**

For the first time in seven years, Hubert was reconsidering his stance on working with partners. Maybe more help would mean more dead slithers. Yet he was terrified of adding another name to his monument, so for now he was still working alone. 


	9. Lady Thorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea learns an important lesson about communication, as in, get consent before tying someone up.

Hubert wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t spend time in Gentleman's Clubs. He didn’t go for the tits out in the air, not that he would see them put away, rather he went for the music. Enbarr had a lot of clubs, but none of the nice ones played the dark music he craved to hear. So he had to seek out the sounds wherever he could find them. Long ago, he and Lysithea had figured out that one of the effects of their dark seals was a love of very specific music. Dark, rich, and perhaps just a little off key. Neither could pinpoint why they loved it so much but he knew they had made Felix miserable dragging him around looking for it at various seedy places. These were places that dark mages, also driven by their love of this music, congregated. One did not need to be a Slither to be a dark mage, but the two often went hand in hand, and so Hubert justified visiting these establishments as work.

He preferred to sit at the bar facing the back wall rather than at a table near the stage. His favorite little dark quartet was finishing their set and he’d probably leave before the burlesque started, maybe. Dorothea wasn’t home tonight so he wasn’t exactly in a rush to get back to the empty apartment he was spending more and more time at. He signaled for another drink and settled in. People were arriving for the more venue-appropriate number and crowding in towards the front. Hubert wondered vaguely what his friends and associates would think if they knew he was here. He predicted Ferdinand would be extremely embarrassed yet unsurprised to know that Hubert frequented such places, and Bernadetta would want to come just once to see it for herself before never coming again. Fritz would die of shame because he was a total prude, then be resurrected by the desire to protect Lord Vestra’s privacy.

As for Dorothea, Hubert didn’t know. A part of him wished she would be angry with him, but the rational part of his brain knew she probably just didn’t care. Hell, she was probably on a date right now for all he knew, and he didn’t much care. Did he care? Hubert started drinking as he attempted to reroute his brain from this disastrous line of inquiry.

Hubert closed his eyes as he waited for the music to start back up. It was after all the whole reason he was here. The headliner had some ridiculous fake name, _Lady Thorn_ , and people were clapping. He did glance around, there were quite a few people here for this performer. Quite a few patrons were sporting dark mage tattoos. Maybe this performer was particularly good, and maybe it was important he stay to watch, for research of course. He probably wouldn’t put this next drink on his expense report, that seemed in poor taste. But, a little burlesque never hurt anyone. 

A familiar voice filled his ears and Hubert’s eyes traced up to the mirrored wall along the bar. He wasn’t sure why he shouldn’t believe what he was seeing, but Lady Thorn was in fact Dorothea Arnault singing on the stage. She was wearing a lot of make up and her hair was done up in an elaborate way, but it was definitely her. Her voice wasn’t like when she was singing operas as Edelgard, this was something sultry, seductive. The lyrics of the number were about how the listener wanted what they couldn’t have, and looking at the people watching her, they all wanted her.

 _Holy shit_. Hubert’s brain wasn’t sure what it wanted to do. Was he jealous? Not especially. Was he turned on? Sure, but so was every other sap watching her slowly reveal her shoulder. Hubert turned on his bar stool and stared as Dorothea perform her set, and tried to identify just what the unfamiliar feeling in his chest was.

No wonder she wouldn’t tell him where she was performing outside the opera. His mind raced as her dress was slipping off revealing a lingerie number he wished she would put on at home. _Fuck_. He wasn’t her boyfriend, he was her roommate who she fucked when she was bored. Yet to see her there in black fishnets and lace that was barely covering her, and in front of all these people, Hubert was at a total loss as to what he was supposed to feel. He paid for his drink and quickly made his way to the back exit. Hubert took one last look back at Dorothea on the stage and froze as she made eye contact with him. He didn’t miss how she faltered on the note she was singing before recovering and averting her eyes. Hubert pushed the door open and escaped out into the calm and quiet of the night.

***

Dorothea found him out on the fire escape of the club. She pulled her coat a little tighter to protect against the breeze. “I didn’t want you to know the clubs I work because I’m embarrassed,” she said softly. “It’s not exactly a job I want on my resume.” She wished he would say something, anything. Then at least she would know what he was feeling. “Can you just talk to me, please?”

“It’s a power trip,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?”

Hubert grabbed the railings on either side of her and looked at her with intensity in his eyes, “Watching all those people watching you, lusting after you and thinking about what’s between your legs, and knowing that you come home to me after.” There was simmering rage in his voice. He closed his eyes, “Fucking hell Dorothea.”

“Are you mad?” This of all things would be the shittiest way for their fledgling relationship, or whatever it was, to end.

“Mad?” Hubert’s eyes shot open, “No, I wanted to be inside you that whole time you were up on stage.”

“Then get in me,” she ordered breathlessly as she let her coat fall open to reveal her black lingerie. Hubert hoisted her up and wasted no time hurriedly undoing his pants; he was ready to go at her. He balanced her on the railing but held onto her so tight that she had no fear of falling. She wrapped her legs around him and looped her arms under his, letting her hands snake up his back. Hubert didn’t even bother to take anything off her he just pushed her panties to one side as he rushed to enter her. She dug her nails into his back through his shirt, “My power trip is going to be singing for those drooling fucks while still feeling your warmth still inside me.”

It wasn’t the slow methodical pleasuring of Hubert, or the unforgiving force of Lord Vestra. This was something frantic and improvised. Dorothea knew that if she lingered too long outside, someone was going to come to yell at her to get back on that damned stage. She clenched her muscles to pull at him from the inside and felt Hubert’s body tremor.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he shook.

She understood, “Just cum inside me.” She tried to channel Lord Vestra as she ordered it; cold and demanding.

Hubert made a disgruntled sound as he grew still. “That was, sloppy of me.”

Dorothea regarded him coolly, “It’s fine.”

Hubert’s face scrunched up but Dorothea cut him off. “Now you’ll be inside me when I’m up on that stage.”

“That’s not exactly what I’m worried about,” said Hubert as they decoupled.

Dorothea smirked and pulled at her earrings, “You think you’re the only one practicing a little birth control?”

Hubert regarded the charm dubiously, “You don’t really believe those work do you?”

Dorothea shrugged, “Hasn’t let me down yet.” Manuela, perhaps not the best mother figure ever but the only one she had for so many years, had sworn by them.

Hubert shyly gave her a peck on the cheek, “Okay. I trust you.”

“You really don’t want kids do you,” she whispered as she adjusted her lingerie back into place.

Hubert was in the process of buttoning his pants back up, “This isn’t really a conversation I want to have on the fire escape of a gentleman’s club.”

“But would it be a conversation you’d be willing to have?” she looked at the door to go back inside knowing she was overstaying her break.

Hubert paused to stare at her, unreadable as ever, “I suppose. I have very, um, complicated feelings about the matter.”

She lingered watching him, “Will I see you at home tonight?’

He gave her his normal mocking half grin, “If you’ll let me, I’ll be escorting you home this evening. Now that I know the types of seedy establishments you frequent in the early hours of the morning, I’m not so sure I like the idea of you walking home alone.”

“Oh thank you so much Lord Vestra, my dark knight in shining armor,” she said sarcastically, even though it would be nice to have company.

“Any time Lady Thorn, my capable damsel in no distress,” he said as he followed her back inside the club.

***

When Dorothea’s set was finished she changed back into her normal clothes and joined Hubert at a booth. They sat chatting as they watched the next set, a much more risque strip tease. Dorothea let Hubert buy them drinks. She figured she didn’t have to be anywhere in the morning.

She was shocked as Hubert, perhaps a little tipsy and feeling bold, laced his fingers with hers as they watched a woman stripping on the grand piano. “Do you like doing these performances?” He asked her, and she sensed it was just genuine curiosity.

“It’s a paycheck,” shrugged Dorothea. The auditions were always uncomfortable if not humiliating, but the pay was better than at the opera. “It really depends on the audience if you catch my drift.”

“Do you like watching them?” Asked Hubert.

Dorothea smirked, “I do.” At that moment the performer was pulling her breasts free and engaging in a very sensual shimmy. Dorothea did very much enjoy watching these sorts of shows. She did enjoy the performances too, but only in the clubs she felt safe in. There were a definitely a couple she no longer performed at. She didn’t like grabby people, she refused to perform places where the patrons were out of control. But having a bunch of people who couldn’t touch her wanting to? Well, that was very enjoyable.

“Do you ever want to go watch these kinds of shows together?”

“Are you asking me on a date to a strip club?” demanded Dorothea, thoroughly amused by the color she had brought up to his pale cheeks. That would certainly be a first for her.

“I would take you to the nicest one I could find,” joked Hubert. Dorothea had been to a bunch, some were very nice, but most of them were not.

“Why?”

Hubert kissed her hand, “I don’t know, I just want to make you happy.”

Dorothea felt a strange flutter in her chest but then remembered that he was drunk and probably didn’t mean anything by it.

***

Their comfortable routine had stayed much the same as before but now with sex thrown in. Hubert knew her secret, that she did burlesque and liked it most of the time, and he knew that she was a type of escort. He didn’t seem too bothered by either of these facts, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He told her if she wanted to quit she should and he’d make she was okay financially, but Dorothea just kept working and saving because she wasn’t a full time spy yet.

Sometimes Hubert brought her along to functions and she helped gather information, but she got paid as a consultant. She continued to go out most nights and was even being courted by other men who would take her on proper dates to places that weren’t strip clubs, although that was proving fun, and Hubert didn’t seem to care. She didn’t want him to be jealous but she also couldn’t get a good read on how he felt about it.

While she was out with paying clients she was working on fully fleshing out her persona, Lady Thorn, who was a total ice queen. Lady Thorn was a courtesan who wore her hair up to show off her fabulous neck and shoulders, and was fond of corsets that exaggerated her already voluptuous hourglass figure. She wore black gloves that went to her elbows. People came to speak to Lady Thorn, but she did not go to them. She didn’t have sex with men for money, but she did get paid to punish them. This was actually quite a good source of income that Dorothea had never considered tapping into. If she had known powerful men would gladly pay her to boss them around and step on them a bit, she would have started in her twenties and been a lot closer to buying her own house.

With women, Dorothea was generally the dominant one, and with men she tended to be a bit more submissive. However, Lady Thorn was a dominant woman when it came to any and all partners. She told them what to do, and if they dared to disobey, well, Lady Thorn had an extensive spell list of painful but non lethal electric magic to punish them with. One client had a blackmailing kink that Hubert, a pro at blackmail, was coaching her through, and another man wanted to be publicly humiliated in Enbarr’s biggest tea house. Lady Thorn took their cash and smashed their hearts. She did offer discounts for referrals.

While Lady Thorn was deathly cool and confident, Dorothea was feeling extremely insecure about the dynamic she had with Hubert. When Lord Vestra and Lady Thorn went out together, it was extremely entertaining. They went out late at night to clubs to listen to music and spy on people, but the more they went out the more people were gossiping about them. The Minister of Whispers and Enbarr’s newest hot dominatrix cut quite a curious pair. Was one of Enbarr’s most frightening and powerful politicians paying her to humiliate him behind closed doors? Or were these two notoriously sensual people fucking each other when no one else could get close to them? Lord Vestra and Lady Thorn were polite and icy people in public, and not affectionate in the slightest.

Then there was Hubie and Dorothea at home. Dorothea had pretty much moved all her things into the master bedroom at this point. Hubert was also finding more and more excuses to stay in the city. Apparently work was ‘very busy’ and he was in Enbarr overnight more often than not. They sat on the couch and cuddled while reading books. Apparently Hubert had extremely trashy tastes and he would read her the funniest passages from these books and threaten to act them out. Hubert ran lines with Dorothea when she started trying out for future productions, and made excuses to come over and kiss her whenever he could. He taught her how to make a passable omelet and they learned together why you shouldn’t cook bacon nude. He’d seen her opera too many times to count because if he couldn’t give away his tickets he wanted to make sure the box wasn’t empty while she performed.

He never said “ _I love you_ ” so Dorothea would not dare to either. He would ask her about her dates, and if she thought the person courting her was a potentially good partner. He was protective, sure, but not possessive. He expressed a desire to see her happy, but did not appear to believe himself worthy of bringing her any happiness. He asked her how her savings were going and if she had started to look at flats or townhouses. He offered to introduce her to his real estate agent.

She was beside herself trying to understand him while she attempted to help Bernadetta in planning the quickly approaching class of 1180 reunion. Ferdinand, in true Ferdinand style, was blowing things up and inviting way too many people. As in, almost everyone who was still alive and didn’t totally hate the black eagles, although knowing Ferdie he would probably still invite them anyway.

“I’m going to kill Ferdinand for suggesting to do this in the city,” growled Bernadetta as she crossed out the guest arrangements for the fifth time. “We do not have the space now that we have two kids. He never thinks about these things.”

“Well, Hubert and I will just stay at his place, and there’s room for one more or a couple,” suggested Dorothea.

“No he only has the two bedrooms and that awful couch in his apartment,” said Bernadetta off handedly. Dorothea regretted suggesting it as Bernadetta looked up at her, “You’re not, you’re not _sleeping_ with Hubert are you?”

Dorothea said nothing as if ignoring the question would make Bernadetta forget.

Bernadetta looked at her list, “Alright, well, I suppose that I won’t have Petra stay there. But, maybe Lin and Caspar wouldn’t mind.” Bernadetta tapped her pen against the notebook, “You don’t have to tell me, but I’m dying to know, what is it like with him?”

Dorothea sipped her tea wishing for Manuela’s flask to spike it with. “I don’t know what to think. I can’t tell if it’s just convenient since we’re both around, or what. I have men actively trying to court me and he’s encouraging it.” The last part bothered her the most. It was incredibly awkward going on dates and then coming home to Hubert asking her how they had gone and then he’d make love to her like all of this was normal. It was not normal, because Hubert was not normal. The worst part was she didn’t even want to leave. She had started to invite him to parties as her date hoping he would get the hint that he could completely court her if he wanted. For being so observant when it came to his marks, he was absolutely shitty at reading her signals.

“Wow you’re killing me with all this romance,” said Bernadetta as she rolled her eyes.

“It’s the least romantic relationship I think I’ve ever been in,” admitted Dorothea. “But it’s like we’re not worried about impressing each other, there’s no pressure.” She dropped her voice, “I mean I peed in front of him, and neither of us cared. I’d never do that with anyone else.”

“Sounds like my marriage,” said Bernadetta flaring her nostrils. “How’s the sex?”

Dorothea blushed, it was just like Bernie to get to the dirty details, “He’s very attentive to my needs. He’s generally considerate but,” Dorothea closed her eyes and reminisced about the few times she’d pressed him to bring out his dastardly persona, “He can be extremely rough and it’s, really good. I don’t know where he learned it but, damn.”

“Mmm,” Bernadetta’s eyes narrowed in on Dorothea. “Sometimes I can convince Ferdinand to act _ignoble_ in the bedroom. He’s always fretting about it, but I have to say when the riding crop comes out—”

Dorothea tried her best not to choke on her tea at Bernadetta’s frank descriptions of her sex life. She could not picture Ferdinand doing a single dirty act but clearly he’d done it at least twice.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything,” said Dorothea. “It’s hard to understand what it is, and I have no idea where it’s going.”

“Don’t worry, I understand that if you don’t kill me, Hubert totally will,” sighed Bernadetta. “That is if planning this reunion doesn’t kill me first! I will haunt Ferdie for this.”

“It’ll work out,” promised Dorothea as she looked at the impossible arrangements again.

Bernadetta was doodling in the corner of the page, “You know, Hubert’s more open then he used to be, maybe you should just ask him if he wants more than sex.”

Dorothea had tried asking, repeatedly and Hubert always dodged. However, Lady Thorn had never tried asking, so maybe Dorothea would let her loose at home and finally get an answer.

***

She got home early with her supplies. Lady Thorn put on her favorite black dress, the short one that made her cleavage look extra amazing, and those tall leather boots she’d always wanted and could finally afford now that she had this lucrative new profession. She slipped on her long black gloves and studied the riding crop that Bernadetta had lent her under explicit orders that it be returned as soon as possible.

Hubert got home from work and found her in the bedroom, “This is, unexpected.”

“Get undressed,” she ordered. Hubert’s eyes were intently studying her very tight clothes as he loosened his own.

“What is this all about?” He was curious but trusting of her. He probably ought to have been a little more suspicious but he’d grown too soft after the war.

“Sit in that chair,” she pointed to the dining chair she had moved into the bedroom. “Leave your knives on.”

Hubert was in an undershirt and his boxers that he only wore to work and never on weekends, still in his socks and calf garters. His knives remained on as ordered and Lady Thorn finally got up with bindings in hand.

“I’m going to tie you up now,” she said coolly as she fastened his arms together.

“Um, alright,” said Hubert uncomfortably as she made the restraints perhaps a little too tight around his ankles. “Is there a safe word for all this?”

“Do you trust me?” demanded Lady Thorn.

Hubert got a little unfamiliar look in his eyes, “I trust Dorothea, I’m not entirely sure I trust Lady Thorn though.”

“I won’t do anything you can’t handle,” promised Lady Thorn as she returned to the bed and got out the crop. Hubert regarded that with similar tentativeness. “I have a few questions for you Hubert.”

She teased him with the crop lightly as she ran it along his shaft resting safely inside his boxers.

“Well I also have a question—”

Dorothea hit him with the crop swiftly, just in the arm, nowhere too sensitive, “You don’t get to ask questions right now. And you better answer mine or I will punish you.”

“Fuck,” muttered Hubert under his breath as he glared a the crop.

“Language,” she hissed as she spanked him again. She sat in his lap and pulled free the first knife. He watched her very closely as she traced it lightly along his neck. “What are your intentions concerning Dorothea Arnault?”

Hubert did not smirk although she did not miss how his nostrils flared in disbelief at her tactics, “Well, I was intending to make her dinner tonight—”

Dorothea pressed the knife lightly into his skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to let him know it was still there, “I mean what are your long term plans for her?”

She watched as his ankle jerked against the restraints, “I do not think I am very comfortable with this game.”

“Oh really? Because I am not comfortable with the game you are playing Hubert,” said Dorothea coldly as she dropped the knife to the floor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I would very much like to be untied now,” said Hubert with the smallest hint of distress.

Lady Thorn was silent as she felt him struggling beneath her. Finally Hubert shut his eyes and in an uncharacteristically broken whisper, pleaded with her, “Please Dorothea I don’t like being restrained, it reminds me of the asylum.”

Dorothea dropped the crop and the act and untied him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t think about it like that.”

“It’s fine,” said Hubert stiffly as he rubbed where his wrists had been tied. “I thought I could indulge whatever little kink you wanted to carry out just now, but, it appears I am not ready for that.” He got away from the chair and took off the rest of his knives. He wouldn’t look at her and seemed pretty upset.

Dorothea felt like she had really mishandled the situation. This total mess was all her fault. She sat next to him in the bed and took off her gloves and her boots that she used for stepping on client’s fingers. “It was a stupid idea.”

Hubert took her hand in his, “I don’t care that you do this to men for money, I actually find that very attractive, but having been actually tortured and interrogated, and left restrained for months, well, this is not my thing.”

“I understand, and I won’t bring Lady Thorn into our bedroom again,” whispered Dorothea feeling ashamed of herself.

Hubert swallowed and then kissed her as he eased down into the soft duvet, “Well, I didn’t say she couldn’t come around. Lord Vestra probably needs punishing, but as for me, I think I need more warning, maybe something less intense.” He looked back at the riding crop, “And dare I ask where that is from?”

“It’s Ferdinand’s,” said Dorothea as she giggled at Hubert’s horror. “Bernadetta loaned it to me, she would like it back post haste.”

Hubert groaned as he slid his hand up her dress and onto her hips, “You can use it on me I suppose, if you want.”

“Maybe later,” said Dorothea as she ran her fingers through his hair, “But we do need to have a conversation about what this is.”

Hubert’s hand withdrew and he looked uneasy, “This arrangement? I believe we are good friends, roommates, occasional co-workers, lovers,” his voice trailed off.

That was the first time he had ever explicitly referred to her as his lover. Hubert did not use a particular four letter word beginning with L or it’s derivatives. That was enough for Dorothea for now. “Alright, get your clothes off.”

“Oh?” Hubert gave a fleetingly look back at the restraints.

“Just the crop this evening,” promised Dorothea as she undid her corset.

Hubert lay naked on the bed watching her as she stripped off her clothes. He was stroking himself hesitantly as she picked up the crop. Dorothea regarded it with appreciation, “Get on your back.”

“Yes Lady Thorn,” said Hubert submissively as she climbed on top of him and started ride with the occasional crack of her crop when he wasn’t moving in the way she wanted him to. She’d have to return this to Bernadetta, but she foresaw herself buying two of her own, one for Hubert, one for clients.

***

Hubert returned the riding crop to its owner. After Florence had left the kitchen and Bernadetta was facing the stove, he’d pulled it out of his sleeve like a stiletto and lightly spanked her from behind.

Bernadetta shrieked at him for the first time in years, “Wah! Where were you hiding that?”

“Thanks to you, we now have one these,” growled Hubert with irritation at the little bruises presently hidden on his own backside.

“You just said we,” said Bernadetta with a mischievous grin as she plucked her precious crop away from him.

“What?”

“You didn’t say Dorothea has one, you said _we_ have one,” said Bernadetta slowly as her amusement swelled. “Are we thinking about what this relationship might be?”

Hubert got red and flustered, “Enjoy your tea, I have to go.”


	10. First Impressions and Second Chances

For the first time in two years, Hubert was taking a few days off. Edelgard’s old estate was no longer the home of the Ministry of Whispers. Everyone agreed the location was super safe and off peoples’ radar, however the commute was inefficient and they really needed to get closer to Enbarr. For Hubert this had been an ideal location, when one worked from home they never really had to stop working. He had to put in time in Enbarr as the public face of the ministry and when conducting surveillance, but mostly he kept extremely long work hours at the manor. 

Now, he was having to hire a staff to manage the too big place and overseeing the transformation of what had been bedrooms and then offices back into bedrooms. Then there was the issue of all the stuff. Hubert had slowly moved more and more of Edelgard’s things into storage as she got sicker. It started with things like her armor and regalia that she didn’t need after stepping down from her office. Then it was things saved from school that she didn’t always remember very clearly. If things upset her he simply moved them upstairs. Sometimes when she was lucid she’d ask after something in particular, but generally she did not miss their absence. 

Early on in their retirement Edelgard had suggested these things should be preserved for posterity, perhaps a museum exhibition or something might be of public interest down the road. Then when she died, anything that wasn’t in the sitting room had been haphazardly brought up here to get it out of the way and the attic was in chaos. This was a problem because now the house was pretty barren in terms of decor, and Hubert didn’t have the physical or emotional strength to go through it all alone. 

Thankfully, Ferdinand, Bernadetta and their children would arrive for the weekend to help prepare the house to be a home once more. They’d have to leave to get back to work on Monday morning, but Dorothea was showing up on Sunday after her opera performance. She’d help him on her days off. Then they’d ride back to Enbarr and leave the house empty once more. It was a ridiculously large place for one person and frankly Hubert didn’t like living alone. He had no idea what to do with it; it was too precious to sell, but too painful and impractical to live there full time again by oneself. Maybe he could just come here on weekends now that the ministry was back in Enbarr. 

Ferdinand was cheerful as they ascended into the attic, but his joy turned to horror right away, “Hubert this is a mess!” 

“Out of sight, out of mind,” grumbled Hubert. In reality, caring for Edelgard full time grew exhausting and the last thing he wanted to do was tidy up all the stuff up here. Certainly his ministry agents hadn’t cared much about sorting the Emperor’s possessions or organizing the centuries worth of Hservelg junk when it came off the walls and was sent up the stairs. This manor had served as a sort of royal retreat when the city grew too unpleasant, or more practically a place that whatever sitting emperor could offload an imperial consort and her children if they were giving him too much trouble. It had been an imperial property for years, and now it had fallen into the unlikely hands of a Vestra, a family that had sworn to never own property and only ever serve as the shadow to the Hservelgs. 

“Well, shall we just go through boxes and pick out things that should go downstairs?” Ferdinand suggested as he popped open the first crate, one labeled _School_. Right on top was Edelgard’s old house leader badge. 

**Flashback, Garreg Mach, 1180**

There she was. The Hservelg heir, Edelgard, in all her magnificent white haired glory and a vassal at her beck and call behind her. She wasn’t in a standard issue uniform, although Ferdinand did not miss how she had managed to stay completely compliant with the dress code. Long red tights, shorts, a rather masculine top with a feminine -- what was that, a cravat? -- detail, and those high heel boots. Ferdinand felt rather sheepish not thinking to have made his own uniform so striking. He was Ferdinand von Aegir after all. 

Each house had only eight students in their officer’s academy; these were to be the best and brightest students of each region. In practice that meant the highest ranking nobility and this year’s batch was no exception. Six of the eight precious spots had gone to Adrestian nobles, mostly heirs of their houses, one spot to foreign royalty (could any other house even claim such a thing?), and lastly one commoner who had aced her entrance exams and apparently shown great potential in her interview. 

Now they just had to decide who was going to lead them, and Ferdinand knew he was the obvious choice. He just had to convince his fellow classmates to vote for him. Easy! Ferdinand had great people skills. He was warm and charming; Edelgard was intimidating and icy. Ferdinand knew he had this in the bag. 

In the training grounds he found Caspar working hard on his gauntlet skills. “Hello, I am Ferdinand von Aegir--” 

Caspar laughed, “Ferdinand, we’ve met like six times, I know who you are!” 

“Sorry, old habit,” apologized Ferdinand. 

“Are you here to train?” Caspar held up his gauntlets as if to beckon Ferdinand away from lances and into some brutish melee. 

“No, I actually wanted to talk to you about the house leader vote,” said Ferdinand as he watched Caspar’s face fall. 

“Well I’m kind of busy, so maybe you could come back later?” Caspar seemed pretty focused on his training, so Ferdinand agreed to bother him later with his election pitch. Also in that moment Edelgard and Hubert had arrived to train and Ferdinand wished to be discreet about his ambitions. He’d convince the others to vote for him and then he would tell Edegard to keep the element of surprise on his side. 

Next he found Dorothea, and that could not have gone worse. She looked like something out of a fairy tale; voice like an ethereal being, and the looks of someone who might model as a reference for artists drawing the goddess. She didn’t seem interested in Ferdinand’s friendship at all, which was unfortunate because she was exactly the kind of woman he’d be interested in courting. She was already successful in her own right, witty, and everyone seemed drawn to her like there was some magical magnetic force around her. 

“Hello, I am Ferdinand von Aegir--” 

“Ferdinand von Aegir, never heard of you,” said Dorothea dismissively. 

Surely she had heard of the von Aegirs, they practically ran the country! “I am the son of Duke Aegir, the Prime Minister. We are one of the oldest noble houses in Adrestia.” 

Dorothea wrinkled her nose, “Let me guess, you probably even have a crest?”

“How did you know? I actually have a minor crest of Cichol--” 

Dorothea snorted and rolled her eyes, “Ferdie, you annoy me, buzz off.” She then refused to talk to him and simply walked away from him. Ferdinand did not do rejection, he would simply have to prove to her that he was worth her time and attention. She’d come around, he was sure of it. 

Next on his list, Bernadetta von Varley. Their fathers had once tried to betrothe them until Ferdinand had begged that it be broken off. Bernadetta made creepy dolls of her enemies and fed them to carnivorous plants, she was a recluse, and he’d never even seen her full on. She was more or less like a flash of purple in his periphery. Plus, he could not find her anywhere! Maybe he could get by without her vote. 

Petra was a sweet but confusing girl. She was also apparently unaware they would soon be voting on their house leader, or what that even really meant. 

“You are wanting me to be voting for you, for what?” Petra’s language skills were limited at best. 

“House leader,” chirped Ferdinand. 

“What if I am wanting to be house leader?” Petra put her hands on her sides and looked especially royal in her pride and ambition. 

Ferdinand’s heart sank at the new competition. “Well then you would have to go submit your name for the ballot.” 

“And where is this, what did you call it, ballot?” 

“I believe Seteth oversees that,” said Ferdinand as his voice fell. He was too nice, and now this was a three pegasus race instead of two. 

“Thank you very much Ferdinand von Aegir!” Petra slapped him on the back with a genuine smile and then made her way towards Seteth’s office. 

Linhardt was solidly asleep everytime Ferdinand ran into him, leaving him no time to ask for his vote. That left the gruesome twosome, Edelgard and Hubert. Edelgard was a lost cause since she was his chief competition, but perhaps Hubert could be swayed with reason to see how Ferdinand was a better choice for the leadership of this house. 

“Hubert, Hubert wait,” called Ferdinand after the too tall mage. Hubert took large strides and was hard to keep up with. It was almost as if he didn’t want Ferdinand to follow after him. 

“What do you want?” Goddess his voice and visage together were simply chilling. Ferdinand wondered if he wanted any help with that. Hubert didn’t seem to be making any friends, and surely everyone wanted more friends. Ferdinand resolved to find a tactful way to bring it up after the election. 

“I will be running for house leader, and I’d like to talk to you about voting for me,” started Ferdinand. 

“Save your breath Aegir, I have no interest in voting for the likes of you,” said Hubert dryly. 

“But you have not even heard what I have to say,” said Ferdinand with annoyance. 

“I’m voting for Edelgard, and nothing you can do or say will ever make me think that you are even remotely in the same league as her,” said Hubert. He stared down at Ferdinand and folded his arms, goddess why was he so tall? Who ever heard of such a tall mage, they’d make arrow fodder on the battlefield. 

“Not in the same league, well I’ll have you know --” Ferdinand didn’t get to finish his sentence as Hubert rolled his eyes and walked away. The nerve of that man! Ferdinand would show him, he’d be better than Edelgard at every task he set himself to, or his name wasn’t Ferdinand von Aegir. 

“Did you know that no one voted for me for house leader?” asked Ferdinand quietly as he held up the gold and red badge. 

“Surely you voted for yourself,” said Hubert as he shifted free another painting of yet another dead Hservelg monarch to add to the ‘don’t hang up’ pile. 

“I thought that would be dishonorable,” said Ferdinand, which elicited a contemptful snort from Hubert. Petra had gotten two votes, and Edelgard had won the rest. It had been a rather sobering moment to realize that no one had thought he should be in charge, and forced him to work much harder on his leadership and authority skills. 

Ferdinand sighed and repacked the school items, into their crate, that could be fun to go through at the reunion. He reached for the next box. On the top there was a play, “Oh, _Kingdom of the Moon and Empire of the Sun_ ,” started Ferdinand. It was a wonderful and romantic story and Ferdinand didn’t have to ask to know that this belonged to Edelgard and not Hubert. 

Hubert looked at the box in a panic, “Please put that down, those are Edelgard’s most personal possessions.” He was practically running to take the box off of Ferdinand. “I, I think you should not look through this, she was very private about these things.” 

“Oh, of course,” said Ferdinand as he watched Hubert whisk the box away to parts unknown. What the hell was in that box?

***

This box was dangerous. This box contained Edelgard’s most treasured things that Hubert had carefully packed away with love and care and the intentions to never look at again. This was her favorite play, her dagger from Dimitri, her best nude sketches, her hair ribbons, and the things she kept for private encounters with the professor. This was her perfume, her hair brush, her favorite lipstick. This was the sweater she wore when she was lounging in the winter. This was her favorite warm quilt. Hubert quietly smelled the blanket and found that even after all these years in storage it still smelled just like her. So did the chaise lounge he didn’t like just anyone sitting on. These things hurt to look at and hurt more to consider getting rid of. These things could live hidden in his closet until he figured out what to do with them. 

**Flashback, Imperial Palace, 1174**

Edelgard returned to Enbarr from Faerghus but Hubert didn’t see her until the slithers were done with her. Her hair was white, her eyes were no longer bursting with life, and her body had been broken and put back together. She used to burst with happy energy, and now she never smiled. It was like she was a different person completely. 

Hubert was already 6’2” by then. His voice had changed, his body was not a soft place to rest upon any more, and he’d killed more people then he could recall. He was letting his hair grow out because it helped hide his face. He looked like a hungry predator hanging around the sullen 12 year old princess. 

They showed each other their scars. Hubert quietly told her what had become of the siblings that were gone before she arrived. She had seen the others with her own eyes in the dark lower levels of the palace. It was just her now. 

“Watch out for my uncle, he’s not who he used to be,” warned Edelgard as she stared out the window towards the rainy city. She was playing with a dagger in her hands that Hubert had never seen. It was not in an Adrestian style. “I stabbed him with this. He barely felt it.” 

It was alarming to think of the princess stabbing her uncle. That was not a task befitting the heir to the throne. That was the kind of dirty work best left to a Vestra. 

“May I be your vassal again?” It was an impossible ask. He had failed so completely to protect her from anything. He wasn’t sure he could protect her now, but he would try his hardest. 

Edelgard stared at Hubert, and then back at her dagger, “Doesn’t that tattoo mean you belong to them?”

“They took my body, not my heart,” whispered Hubert. He’d never belong to the Slithers; he might let them believe they controlled him, but they only had his hatred. 

“You sound like one of my stupid plays,” sighed Edelgard, still not looking at him. “Now I know that those are all a bunch of bullshit.” 

The words stung coming from someone who used to cherish those plays and told him that she loved him. He watched the dagger still moving in her hands. She was getting more skilled but he was still much faster with a knife. She was stronger than she’d ever been, but lacked the kind of precision he had in throwing and stabbing. She’d never killed anyone before, while Hubert’s kill count was not something that should be shared. 

“Where did you get that?” asked Hubert finally to break the uncomfortable silence. 

Edelgard stopped moving the dagger around and stared at it, “Someone gave it to me, told me to cut a path towards my dreams.” 

“And what are your dreams?” 

Edelgard sighed and closed her eyes, “To do away with crests and the nobles that love them. Tear down the church that supports them and keeps its followers blind. To bring these things that did this to me to their knees, and then to cut off their heads.”

“Sounds bloody,” murmured Hubert. “Sounds unfit for you to trouble yourself with.” He gestured for her to hand him the dagger, and she passed it over. He studied it closely; it was mostly decorative. The workmanship was fine, and it was a very pretty dagger. It could be deadly, but it was more for accessorizing than killing. Hubert loosened his own personal knife, a much less flashy number that had seen its share of throats. He held both blades up for Edelgard, “This is you,” he passed her back the fancy dagger. “Meant for being seen, meant for show.” He held up his dagger, “This is me, meant to be kept hidden away and used for killing.” He spun the blade dangerously in his fingers, “Let me cut this bloody path you want, let me clear your way.” 

Hubert sheathed his blade and cleared his throat. He thought about all the dramatic monologues she’d made him recite over the years, and all the real things he wanted to tell her now but didn’t know how. “Let me stand behind you, not because I’m a Vestra and you’re a Hservelg. Let me stand there because I choose you, and, because I love you.” 

Edelgard stared at him for a while, and then nodded. It took her some time to trust him again, to love him again. Once she did, however, they were closer than ever and walking the same path. Hubert led the way through the dark, he did the killing, bribing, and planning, while Edelgard walked in the light for everyone to see. 

Bernadetta had Ferdie happily strapped to her back as she prepared lunch for everyone. This kitchen was enormous and super well stocked, basically Bernadetta’s dream kitchen. There was even a cold cellar dug down into the rocks the house sat upon. This was the kind of house that Bernadetta dreamed of being snowed in at for Adrestia (formerly Saint Seiros) day. There was cheese, wine, plenty of root vegetables, and salted meats. The pantry was stocked with flour and sugar begging to be transformed into cookies and cakes. There were chickens for fresh eggs, and a cow for milk. Bernadetta could imagine the six of them -- Florence and Ferdie, Ferdinand and herself, Dorothea and Hubert -- stuck here with the roads too snow packed to travel, enjoying delicious meals and each others company. It was a simply lovely notion. 

However it was still late summer, nearly fall, and there was no snow on the horizon. Bernadetta sighed, because she and Ferdinand always hosted Adrestia Day at their home in Enbarr. Hubert would visit the night before, and Ferdinand’s massive loud family came for the day itself. Bernadetta didn’t mind Ferdinand’s family, she even liked some members quite a bit, but it was exhausting being around that many high energy people. There was never a chance to get away and just read a book or do some embroidery. In contrast this place had a sitting room, a library, and a bar. Bernadetta could perfectly picture herself mixing up a weak cocktail, curling up by a fireplace with a book, and watching all the snow pile up and make it impossible to be bothered by work or extended family. 

Bernadetta pushed her serving trolley towards the dining room and delighted in getting to ring a big bell to signal the meal was ready. At home it was just her screaming for everyone to come eat. Florence arrived excitedly, yammering about how she had finished setting up the game room and the chess board was ready for playing. Hubert and Ferdinand came down from the attic looking rather dusty. They looked a little bit like grumpy ghosts and were clearly arguing as usual. 

“I really don’t understand why you have that painting of Dorothea, it’s very suggestive,” complained Ferdinand. “And to hang it above the bar, don’t you think she’ll mind?”

Hubert was red, “It was purchased as a gift. I wanted her to take it, it’s not my fault she doesn’t have a place to put it. It had to go somewhere!” 

Bernadetta was going to need to check out this bar and this picture that had her husband so rattled. “How’s the progress with the attic?”

Hubert responded “Good,” while Ferdinand simultaneously responded, “Terrible.” 

“Well, maybe you should go on baby duty and I’ll help Hubert,” offered Bernadetta. She watched as Ferdinand’s enthusiasm returned and decided that a dusty old attic was no match for her. Also Ferdie Jr. was pulling her hair and drooling a bit extra today, so might as well let Ferdinand mop that up instead. 

Goddess was she wrong. This attic was humongous and packed to the brim. This was the last vestiges of imperial artifices all removed from the palace before it became a government building. It was like walking back in time through a treasure trove of random fancy crap. The irony was not lost on her that Hubert, someone who went out of his way to avoid owning much and completely embraced the new Adrestia, had come to inherit all of what was left of the old empire. 

“I’ll start with the paintings,” offered Bernadetta. Perhaps there were some more scandalous ones to scope. She began to sort through them and started to pull the most elegant ones to hang up. There were also beautiful landscapes and battle scenes. It was a magnificent collection because Edelgard had always loved art. This manor was going to look great when the von Aegirs got through with it. 

She felt a small scream leave her lips as she looked at one. Hubert came over to her, “What is it? If it’s a spider I’ll just let it outside.” 

“I’m not scared of spiders, they’re kind of cute,” huffed Bernadetta as she thought about a nice adorable hairy spider and all its giant eyes. She had gasped at the painting she was pulling free now. It was a portrait of all the ministers of Ionius IX, including her dead father. “I just never expected to see _him_ again.” 

Hubert’s eyes were squared in on his own father. “Hmm. Well I’d offer to burn it but Edelgard insisted on keeping this kind of thing for the future.” 

“I understand,” sighed Bernadetta as she turned the painting around and buried it behind a bunch of ugly portraits of long dead Hservelgs. Edelgard had been a very attractive lady, but the same could not be said for every member of her long lineage. 

“Have you explained to Florence yet what happened to her grandfathers?” asked Hubert quietly. He’d arrested them both and Bernadetta knew that Hubert was very nervous about how that reflected upon him in Florence’s eyes. Her daughter idolized Uncle Hubert, who was as far as she knew the greatest chess player in all of Fodlan.

“We’re figuring that out, and neither grandmother wants to talk about it. My mother was elated when my father died, but Ferdinand’s mother actually loved her husband. Adrestia day is always ripe for awkwardness,” explained Bernadetta. “Actually, I was thinking, this huge house might be nice for celebrating the holidays with just you and us, and Dorothea!” 

“That would be nice,” sighed Hubert. “I don’t really do anything for Adrestia day. I usually just go to work.” Bernadetta cringed, that was just about the saddest way to celebrate the day. 

“Oh please, please invite us here this year!” begged Bernadetta. “I love Ferdinand’s family but they drive me crazy. I need a year off from hosting!” 

“I don’t know that Ferdinand will like that very much,” mused Hubert. “Plus he might try to make up for it with something even worse, like an extended family reunion at your place.” 

Bernadetta groaned, “Oh goddess don’t say reunion. Planning the school reunion is still a disaster. It’s killing me how many people he wants on the guest list, they’ll never fit in our house!” Bernadetta paused and looked around the massive attic and then at the floor to envision the massive house below, “But if we came here,” her voice trailed off. 

“Here? To my house? Why would anyone want to do a reunion at my house, they all hate me.” 

“That’s not true! Caspar loves you!” protested Bernadetta. She paused trying to think of the others, “And Linhardt doesn’t hate you. Petra doesn’t hate you.” 

“So one person loves me, and two don’t totally hate my guts,” grumbled Hubert as he ripped a dust cloth off of some old armchairs. “Sounds delightful.” 

“We could just say it’s Edelgard’s old house, we don’t have to explicitly mention it belongs to you,” suggested Bernadetta. She was jonesing to get this reunion off her plate. Hubert’s estate was perfect for this! “Plus what’s the point of fixing the place back up if not to invite people to stay?” 

Hubert was cursing under his breath as he hauled the armchair towards the stairs. Bernadetta beamed, “I’ll take that as a yes!” From her point of view the rest of the weekend was a grand success. She wanted this place reunion ready so there would be no more talk of her having to host the reunion in Enbarr. If someone had told her in 1180 she’d someday be twisting Hubert’s arm into doing something he didn’t want to do, Bernadetta probably would have screamed at the notion. 

**Flashback, Somewhere in Adrestia…, 1180**

Oh Bernie, this was it. This was how she died, she was sure of it. Her captors had just yesterday appeared to be cheerful groomsmen and maids. No one was that cheerful, especially not around her father, and now Bernadetta understood why: these weren’t servants, they were cold blooded kidnappers! 

They weren’t especially mean to her other than shoving her into this sack and hiding her inside some hay in a cart. They told her this was for her own good. They told her to get excited. No way. No good could come of this, and Bernadetta was worried what her father was going to do to her when he finally caught her. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t in on this plan, he was going to punish her all the same. 

The kidnappers had gotten lost at some point, and now they were complaining that they were late and they didn’t want to piss off the person they were meeting. Oh goddess, who on earth were they handing her off to? Pirates? Ransomers? Or worse, a disgruntled suitor! Her father rejected as many proposals for Bernadetta as he made offers, one of those rejects was bound to get mad eventually. This was it. This was revenge on poor Bernie!

Bernadetta squeezed her eyes shut as she was pulled from the bag she had been smuggled in. She immediately tried to bolt. People were cursing but Bernadetta didn’t care. She was sprinting but, phew, she was out of shape. She had never actually run anywhere before. Come on Bernie, this is for your life, go! 

Useless as usual. Bernadetta was tackled to the ground, “What the hell are you doing?” The man who had tackled her rolled her over and glared at her. That fearsome scowl, those angry green eyes, pale skin glinting in the moonlight. Oh no. This was to be her doom. This man was going to marry her against her will, have his way with her, and then who knew what else. Bernadetta squirmed and struggled to get free. She flailed and punched until finally she socked her would-be suitor in the eye. 

“Is this how House Varley conducts itself? What a joke.” The now very angry man pulled her up to her feet. He had a rather unwavering grip on her and Bernie knew there was no getting free from this. She started to hyperventilate, she was crying, and then she was waking up in the carriage sitting across from a rather disgruntled looking young man with a black eye. It was day time now, and somehow he looked even more evil in the light than he had in the dark. Her hands and feet were tied. Bernadetta let out a little sob as she realized she was going to be forced to marry someone like her father, or knowing her luck, worse than him. This was her worst nightmare come true. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” sighed her new captor with a hint of sarcasm.

“I will not be marrying you!” stammered Bernadetta. Go Bernie! Way to stand up for yourself. 

“I should sincerely hope not,” said her captor dryly. He pulled up some official looking papers, “You will be attending Garreg Mach, and I have no interest in what marriages might come after.” 

“You, you’re kidnapping me to take me to school?” demanded Bernadetta in disbelief as she stared at the acceptance letter. 

“That's what I just explained,” hissed her captor as he folded the papers away. “You will be a student in the Officer’s Academy in with the other Adrestian students in the Black Eagle house. I expect you will behave.” 

Bernadetta shut her mouth. Officer’s academy? A likely tale! “Is this some kind of elaborate ruse to get me to trust you? Because I don’t! At all!” 

"I don't really give a damn if you trust me or not." Her captor sighed, “I am Hubert von Vestra, vassal to Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the empire. You would do well to follow her orders.” 

“And if I don’t?” demanded Bernadetta weakly. 

“Then I will be forced to dispose of you,” said Hubert humorlessly. “And I promise you it will not be pleasant.” 

Bernadetta felt a scream cross her lips as she passed out again. When she woke up, the carriage was stopped and she was untied. Bernadetta quietly tried to spy out the window and saw an imposing looking young woman examining Hubert’s black eye. 

“She did this to you? Well, maybe she will be good on the battlefield then!” suggested the young woman. 

“She screams and faints often,” said Hubert angrily as he rubbed his bruise. “Perhaps we can use her as a decoy.” 

“Hubert be nice, she’s probably had a very harrowing journey, plus you’re not exactly the most pleasant sight to wake up to,” teased the young woman as she looked at the carriage. Oh goddess no, Bernie was caught. “Oh she’s awake, perfect!” 

“If she tries to attack you I will kill--” 

“Hubert be quiet!” hissed the young woman as she opened the carriage door and pulled Bernadetta out with a deceptively strong grip. “My name is Edelgard von Hservelg, and it is a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Garreg Mach.” 

Bernadetta looked up at the imposing monastery and then back at Edelgard in disbelief. She caught Hubert’s scowl, and fainted again. The next time she woke up, she was in a room, wait no this was her new bedroom, and she vowed to never leave again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the Azure Moon route is big on redemption for Dimitri's arc, but I feel like the Black Eagle routes really makes the player question their first impressions of every character in that house (maybe because you're supposed to see them as the villains in the AM and VW routes if you don't recruit them).


	11. Seeing Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get on this dorobert train with me (with like 2 other people that post dorobert fanart on twitter :'D)

The country at night with no people around felt deathly quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of Enbarr. Dorothea looked up and could even see stars unlike when she was out on the bright streets of Enbarr at night. She had liked the country during the day, but frankly it was creepy at night.

Dorothea was arriving much later than she anticipated and wasn’t surprised when Lord Vestra was not there to greet her. Instead the footman led her inside, and Hubert’s new unfamiliar servants were attempting to usher her towards her bedroom because it was super late and clearly they wanted to go to sleep. The house looked a lot more like a home compared to the last time she visited, and much less like a training facility for spies.

“Excuse me, where’s Hubert?” Dorothea asked cautiously. Being around servants was especially strange for her.

“I believe Lord Vestra has retired to the sitting room,” started one maid.

“Well I’d like to see him first,” announced Dorothea as she looked around. She could just barely spy Hubert’s big feet hanging off of the edge of a familiar chaise lounge. Dorothea walked towards him before anyone could stop her.

He was totally passed out with his face buried towards the back of the chair. He had a book clutched to his chest and he was snoring ever so softly. Dorothea gently laced her fingers through his hair, “Hubie, wake up.”

Hubert’s eyes peeled open. He looked a little disoriented, then surprised, then disappointed, “Oh no, I’m sorry, I fell asleep. I meant to greet you when you got in.”

“It is quite past your bedtime,” teased Dorothea. It totally was; Hubert was asleep by 10 most nights if he wasn’t going out, and then up at 5. Dorothea was much more of a go to sleep at 3 and wake up at 10 kind of person.

“Then we should probably go to bed,” said Hubert with a fleeting look at his new house staff. “I had a room prepared for you.”

“Do you not want me to stay with you?” Dorothea was a little uncertain how to read the gesture.

“Of course I want that,” whispered Hubert quietly.

Dorothea pulled him off of the chaise lounge, “Then lead the way.”

Hubert awkwardly dismissed the servants to let them get their own much needed sleep, and insisted that they shouldn’t feel the need to wake too early since they’d been kept up so late. He carried Dorothea’s bag up towards the bedrooms and pointed out rooms of interest to her. For not being a sprawling mansion like most nobles lived in, this manor still felt huge to her.

The stairs were very creaky, and the house was unsettlingly still and dark without the benefit of electric lights. Hubert’s new master bedroom was comically large for him, and the four poster bed looked like it had been stolen from a stage production with how grandiose it was.

“Why did you want me to have my own room?” asked Dorothea as she flopped on the too large bed. “Also, was this Edie’s room?” She traced her arms over the scarlet velvet duvet. It felt lovely but it was so Edie and so not Hubert.

“This was Edelgard’s room, yes,” said Hubert reluctantly. “Fritz convinced me that I could not keep my bedroom in the servants’ quarters if there were actual servants about. Since I am apparently the master of this house, I get this stupidly large room.” He sounded rather put off by this as he changed into his bed clothes. “And as for why I thought you might appreciate your own room, well, we’re not really used to other people being around. I wanted you to have the option of some propriety.”

Dorothea smirked as he came over to her, “Yes the virgin Dorothea Arnault would hate to appear improper with such a sinister villain as Lord Vestra.”

“Why are you still in your clothes?” demanded Hubert with sleepy annoyance.

“Maybe I want you to undress me,” she teased. “Since we’ve already left any propriety in the foyer.”

“I’m tired,” he whispered as he started to unbutton her coat.

“Me too,” she whined as she pretended to be too weak to lift her arms.

“Maybe I should just let you sleep in your clothes,” threatened Hubert as he liberated her from her coat.

“Metal corset Hubie, not comfy, I won’t sleep a wink and it will be all your fault,” she whispered.

Hubert was staring at her outfit, the one she wore so often during the war, the extremely complicated one to remove. He sighed, “You still have this?”

“I keep everything I still fit into,” she smiled as he stared at the complicated corset. She was also wearing her thigh high leather boots. She bit her lip as she lifted her leg up along his. Fine, she wasn’t sleepy, she was horny, and this was getting fun.

Clearly a little disgruntled by the game, Hubert took the boot off, and then the next one, and marveled at how tall they were. He took off the unattached sleeves she had thought were so fashionable during the war years (although maybe an impractical blunder in retrospect) and then stared at the corset. “Is there a trick to this?”

Dorothea playfully rolled over on the bed and looked back over her shoulder, “Figure it out yet?”

“How do you actually get into and out of this?” demanded Hubert as he worked it open. He was still struggling with how it all went together and then came apart.

“There’s a reason I don’t wear this very often anymore,” sighed Dorothea as he removed the outer red shell of her dress, leaving just a short black number behind.

“Finally,” he grumbled as he started to pull that off of her. He paused as he looked at her undergarments. “This is, isn’t this what you wear for your burlesque number?”

Dorothea finished pulling off her dress and laid back on the plush velvet bedspread in her little black lingerie set. “I’m retiring it from the stage to the bedroom.” She had threatened to quit before, but after her last show things had been so dicey with the owner of the club actually paying her that she was walking away from it for good. She didn’t have another venue at the moment, and she wasn’t sure she was super eager to find another. More time in her schedule meant more time for spying or domming (or doing both at the same time, she was still working out the logistics of that).

Hubert snapped lightly at the fancy underwear, “I wish I was not so tired.”

Dorothea sat up with a start, “What! This isn’t waking you up?”

“I just spent the last three days moving furniture around, I passed out trying to stay up for you, may I please have a rain check?” He did have deep lines under his eyes, but Dorothea was pretty sure those were permanent.

Dorothea groaned as she got up and took off the extremely sexy lingerie and pulled on her frumpy nightgown. Hubert was already under the covers looking pretty content to fall asleep. Dorothea sighed and blew out the candle and came to join him.

“I found something in the attic you’ll find very intriguing, we can put that lingerie to use tomorrow evening, I promise,” whispered Hubert as he kissed her goodnight. He was asleep within minutes and Dorothea wondered if she was possibly losing her touch. That had been a very well planned out reveal and he was totally immune to it.

The country was quiet, but not that quiet. Dorothea woke up in the pitch black to the sound of a woman screaming in the night. “What the fuck is that?” she hissed as she roused Hubert from sleep.

“Foxes, it’s just foxes,” murmured Hubert.

“Are you sure?” demanded Dorothea as she migrated towards him in the bed.

He drowsily wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to his chest, “I won’t let them get you.”

“You’d better not,” she hissed as she tried to ignore the scary sounds of the countryside.

**Dream, The Streets of Enbarr, sometime around 1170**

Dorothea cupped one hand over her mouth as she tried her best not to make a sound. Her other hand held her little tiny knife, the one she’d cheated away from some old man, and her eyes were squeezed shut. A couple of hours ago this had looked like a great place to sleep, but right now it was hell.

This wasn’t her usual spot, but this was her home for the night. When she found it she thought maybe if she played her cards right this would be her alleyway. It had looked pretty sweet in the daylight: there was a nice dumpster behind a restaurant she had correctly predicted would have at least some scraps in it come closing time. There was a club up above playing music she enjoyed. It was almost nice. Dorothea had her little blanket hidden beneath a pile of debris, although the crates wouldn’t keep out rain. She could work on that.

However, there was a reason this alley was unoccupied, Dorothea was now realizing. It had to be 3 or 4 am, because the club was emptying out. The drunken patrons had made a great deal of noise as they cleared out. Then when it seemed like everyone was gone there was an argument, a loud one. Someone owed a dancer money at the end of the night, and the person supposed to pay her didn’t think she’d earned it. He told her to keep her tips and not to come back because she wasn’t a good enough performer. She had pulled a knife, the club owner had pulled a baton.

Dorothea looked up and could see this was happening on the fire escape directly above her little bed for the night. Dorothea had recently learned a new word, fuck, and it seemed appropriate to capture how she felt right now. The woman yelled, she screamed, and then she didn’t anymore. She was pushed off the fire escape by her assailant, she landed just feet from where Dorothea was attempting to sleep. Dorothea stared at the woman, and the woman stared back although she wasn’t going to see anything ever again. Dorothea never slept in that particular alley again.

Hubert nearly always woke up before Dorothea and today was no different. She'd been having some sort of nightmare but gently brushing his fingers along her hair had seemed to help calm her. She was still smashed up against him and drooling in a rather unattractive way. Hubert smirked at the thought of how she would react if she could see herself right now — hair mussed up in every direction, face bare, granny nightgown all pushed up during the night — although he thought she was perfect just the way she was. This was one of his favorite views of her because it was private and she trusted him with it.

They were two people who were rarely ones to spend the night with one night stands. For Hubert, when he was playing Lord Vestra he would hold someone after for all of a minute before discreetly casting a sleeping spell on his unsuspecting partner to maximize time for snooping. Dorothea only liked spending the night if her host had a particularly nice place, and even then she wasn’t one to linger. Better to walk home under cover of darkness than in the harsh sunrise past respectable people out on a morning stroll. Yet here they were together in the same bed in the unforgiving morning light, with their last random encounters being so far in the past they barely recalled them.

When Hubert closed his eyes he could almost picture the two of them in a proper Enbarr townhouse with a yard, a dog, and two kids if he was really letting his mind wander. Hubert didn’t even like dogs all that much, but Dorothea did, and he liked her so he was sure he could learn to deal with a pet. Then his eyes would open and reality would set in: Hubert had never been especially good at putting another person before his duties, and Dorothea had left him once already for a better romantic partner. To be fair to Dorothea, she had left him for the Emperor, and he hadn’t really given her much reason to stick around.

Now, just like back then, Hubert worked all the time. He also worked on holidays because he couldn’t accept an invitation to visit with Ferdinand’s extended family since they’d never really forgave him for arresting their father and liquidating most of their family assets before the war. He didn’t have anyone else to visit at that time of year. Grandfather and grandmother Vestra had both met an untimely end thanks to a self-poisoning accident when he was very young, and as for his mother’s family what little he knew about them suggested that they hadn’t been especially nice to her for being born without a crest so he didn’t desire to meet them. Alternatively, work meant being around people who also did a lot of questionable things in the name of Adrestia. Work meant staying busy and feeling needed. Not working meant going out alone, or sitting at home alone and feeling useless, neither of which were very desirable.

**Flashback, Imperial War Camp, 1182**

What did one do for a date on the front lines of a war? Hubert barely knew what to do with a date during peace time. He’d never actually been on one and Dorothea struck him as someone who had been on a lot and had very high standards. How could he possibly impress her?

Hubert was killing time in his tent running through his options. He could show Dorothea constellations, he knew just about all of those. Maybe he’d get lucky and the universe could toss him a meteor shower. They could share hot cocoa, it could be like a night tea time not involving tea. He shook his head, this was going to be a disaster. Dorothea liked big romantic gestures. He couldn’t cook for shit, he didn’t know how to write a poem, he didn’t sing, and he didn’t dance unless Edelgard really needed him to. He could offer to murder someone for Dorothea but that seemed like a dangerous precedent to set.

They’d been having sex for a year and half. Was that too much time to linger before asking someone out on a date? Had he missed his opportunity? The sex was good, no, great for him, but maybe she didn’t feel the same. He wanted to court her, but had no idea what to do and the only person who might have an idea was Ferdinand, and their relationship was tempestuous at best. It seemed in poor taste to ask someone how to date the person they’d had a big crush on until you sort of stole them. Fuck, star gazing would have to cut it because it was the only thing Hubert was good at that didn’t involve killing and could be done in the middle of nowhere.

Hubert would ask Dorothea first thing after this meeting with Edelgard. He checked his watch and made for Edelgard’s tent. “Good evening your majesty.”

“Hubert, come sit, I made that cinnamon tea you tolerate,” smiled Edelgard. She seemed nervous. That was never good; it meant she needed something from him and she didn’t know how to ask. Hubert cautiously sat and accepted the tea. It was true, this was the best tea, but that was rather like saying some way was the best way to die. It was still terrible. He drank it and pretended to like it.

“I um, I have a difficult question for you,” began Edelgard.

Oh no. What did she need now? “Yes your majesty?”

“Well it’s about your uh, um, relationship with Dorothea,” the way Edelgard said relationship was forced as if she wasn’t really sure what to call it. To be fair Hubert didn’t really think there was a proper way to describe it. Perhaps only improper terms could really capture it, fuck buddies.

Hubert felt his face getting red against his will. “I suppose relationship might be a bit generous.” Well if the Emperor was now finally calling him out on his lack of discretion he’d been too public for too long. That was not good, he dreaded the idea of bringing shame upon her because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. This was far more embarrassing than he predicted.

“That’s what I thought,” said Edelgard quietly. “I don’t want to assume anything or overstep, but the prevailing gossip seems to suggest that this is purely physical for you two.”

Hubert cleared his throat. Well that was not precisely true, it was very much a one sided romance in his head, with a two way physical aspect. Of course people wanted to ask Dorothea out but they were too afraid of him taking them out instead, and he was too much of a coward to actually suggest they properly go out. Edelgard was the only person brave enough to go after what she wanted. “I am, well, I am very fond of Dorothea, but, I don’t really know how she feels about me.”

“Do you love her? Because if you don’t, well, I would very much like to court her,” whispered Edelgard. She was staring at Hubert now. Edelgard was a conqueror, she aspired to unite Fodlan, what was liberating Dorothea from an unsatisfactory relationship in comparison to that?

Hubert felt his chest getting tight. He wasn’t really sure how one knew if they were in love with someone. He loved Edelgard, but that bond was forged in childhood, and tempered by shared trauma. It was also easy for him to love Edelgard because she loved him back and neither had any romantic aspirations for the other. He thought what he felt towards Dorothea was love, but he also knew that it was easy to enjoy her company because she wasn’t afraid of him and laughed at his jokes, unlike the majority of people he interacted with.

He was terrified of Dorothea’s rejection. He was also a realist: he wasn’t exactly a promising partner. He worked too much, and he would continue to work after the war — assuming he survived it — because any wealth he had was appropriated for the war effort just like every other toppled noble house. It wasn’t clear what would be available after the war for the likes of Vestra, Varley, Aegir, and all the other families accused of conspiracy against the Imperial family. He was also objectively not the best looking person, and definitely not the nicest. In comparison, Edelgard was beautiful, wealthy, and while she wasn’t nice either, she was at least nicer than Hubert.

“May I speak to her first?” asked Hubert quietly. The words were difficult to choose, “I would like to settle things between her and I before you pursue anything.”

“Of course! I don’t want to intrude on anything, but if there’s nothing there —

“Thank you your majesty,” whispered Hubert, trying not to appear dejected. Well this was going to be an interesting test of Dorothea’s feelings. Hubert already knew in his heart he stood no chance. She was never going to date him, least of all when the Emperor wanted to court her properly. Worst of all, Edelgard was a much more suitable partner by miles. Hubert of course desired the best for Dorothea because he was pretty certain loved her, but clearly he was not the best for her.

Hubert had never been inside Dorothea’s tent before. He awkwardly announced his presence, “May I join you for a few minutes?”

Dorothea looked up from her mending in surprise, “Uh, sure. You look rather serious, what’s going on?” She smirked at him and teased, “Am I being fired from cooking duty for real this time?”

Hubert sat on Dorothea’s travel trunk and debated what to say, “Your cooking, while terrible, is not why I’m here.” He took a few deep breaths while she watched him. “I would like to discuss us and what we’re doing.”

Dorothea cocked one of her eyebrows at him with a suspicious glance, “Okay.”

“I recognize this is probably not a very fulfilling relationship for you,” started Hubert.

“Well you’re plenty filling--” teased Dorothea.

“But emotionally, I imagine it’s not very inspiring,” finished Hubert.

Dorothea had put down her mending and was staring at him. There was an unfamiliar look in her eyes, anticipation? “Are you looking to make this more than just sex?”

Hubert broke from her stare and looked at the ground, “No.” Yes he wanted to, but he was a tactician and this was not a sound battle plan. This was never going to work out between them, and he wasn’t going to stand in his Emperor’s way when it came to matters of the heart. He could plainly see that Edelgard and Dorothea would make each other very happy, and he could settle for being happy about that. “It has come to my attention that someone far more suitable is interested in you, and um, I think that you would enjoy their company much more than mine.”

“Oh,” whispered Dorothea; it was clear that was not what she’d been expecting. “Dare I ask who you think is so suitable?”

Hubert brought his eyes back up to meet hers, “The Emperor.” He got up and gave Dorothea an awkward overly formal bow that he immediately regretted but could not take back, “I’ve taken enough of your time, when the Emperor is ready I’m sure she will find a much more romantic way to ask you out than this.”

“Hubert wait,” whispered Dorothea as he turned to leave. “Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

He couldn’t spare her more than a glance because he feared his face might betray him, “Of course this is fine with me. It is for the best, you will both be happy. Now, please excuse me, I have some work to finish.”

That was a lie. Hubert had no work for the rest of the night. Instead he walked for a while until he was outside of their war camp. He laid down on the ground and looked up at the stars alone, and resolved that the next time he desired someone like this he wasn’t going to let them slip through his fingers so easily.

With Petra, he’d been the perfect partner and carefully planned out everything. They were extremely private. He took her on dates, he gave her gifts, he even told her that he loved her. He courted her for a while before finally making love to her and was serious about marrying her. He still lost her because he elevated his duty above the promises he made to her.

With Mercedes, things hadn’t been planned out at all. She came to him first, which he hadn’t anticipated. They lived together, they took care of each other, and they supported each other through a difficult undercover mission in which almost nothing was allowed to be private but the things they said to each other in bed. Yet again he put his duty before her and their unborn child, and in the end lost both of them. Both he and Mercedes needed time and space after what happened in Shambhala, and after they’d gotten it, they no longer wanted each other. He’d been with Mercedes in a way he’d never been with anyone before and it still stung at his heart to think back upon. It made him reconsider marriage and children and if he was person fit for such things.

Lord Vestra engaged in a string of loveless affairs to gather information after his return to Enbarr after Edelgard’s death. However, Hubert had also sincerely attempted to date. It hadn’t gone particularly well. He didn’t like talking about himself because he didn’t have nice things to say, so he mostly listened to others speak about themselves. People liked being listened to, however as one man who he’d seen for a number of months put it as they broke up, Hubert left too much unspoken about his own past.

His past was impossible to ignore when Hubert finally built up the courage to let someone see him naked because the violence he’d endured was etched into his very skin. There was nowhere to look where there wasn’t any sign of his brutal private history. It was one thing to say you worked in government, it was another to admit that you’d served as the Emperor’s personal finisher most of your life and were still actively killing off Slithers every chance you got. No one he tried to date had stuck around after seeing him completely in the light, and Hubert was rather resigned not to show himself to anyone new ever again.

Hubert carefully shifted Dorothea off of his chest so he wouldn’t wake her. His eyes were drawn to the pile of lingerie near Dorothea’s bag and he regretted that he hadn’t been the one to take it off of her. He hoped she wasn’t mad, it had been a very nice and sexy gesture. He had just been too utterly exhausted to do anything about it. They had developed a pretty good rapport when it came to talking about what they wanted to do and try. They both were more adventurous in their thirties than in their early twenties, and Hubert knew a lot more about what he liked and didn’t like these days. They indulged each other with whatever request they could, but respected the fact that they each had their boundaries. For example, Hubert didn’t do restraints, at all, and Dorothea didn’t do simultaneous oral because she didn’t like balls that close to her eyes and nose. Hubert looked back at Dorothea sleeping and wondered how she was going to react to his request tonight, it could really go either way but she was the only person he even remotely trusted enough to ever ask for this.

He went down to the kitchen to make his coffee and read the paper. He was trying to make more of an effort with Dorothea this time around, but he was also not getting his hopes up about the longevity of whatever this was. He retreated to the sitting room and took his spot on the chaise lounge. This room was still identical to how Edelgard had left it. Sometimes that was comforting, but most of the time this room was a tomb.

Hubert heard the quiet gasp of a maid as she passed the room. He’d forgotten about the servants, and thus had forgotten about the importance of a shirt. Hubert quickly pulled a blanket over his shoulders to help hide his scars and opened his paper up so he could hide behind it.

Dorothea pulled down the top of the paper and stared at him, “Why are you so bundled up?”

“I just needed some privacy,” he whispered as he made room for her to sit beside him.

“Maybe you need a nice silky robe like me,” she teased as she helped herself to his coffee. Her robe did feel wonderful as it brushed against his skin, but any time she touched him felt good.

“Maybe,” he muttered as he focused on an article about a street fight that had happened yesterday. He had to get back to work. There were still too many black market dark seals out, and an uptick in dark mages seen in the city. He was itching to get back on the street and away from this house that was no longer a place of work but a place of, relaxation? He wasn’t sold on that bit yet.

“Hubie, why is this chair here? It’s not even facing the rest of the room,” asked Dorothea as she stared around the sitting room.

“It was so that I could see Edelgard from the kitchen,” said Hubert as he turned the page of the paper.

Dorothea had grown very quiet. “Did she die in this chair?”

“She did,” said Hubert softly as he lost his place in reading.

“She loved this lounge,” whispered Dorothea as she traced the pattern on the fabric. “It seems fitting that it was the last place she would be.” Dorothea looked up at him mischievously, “You know she used to do me on this chair right?”

Hubert smirked down at her, “I am well aware. I got quite good at doing a 180 out of the tent after walking in on you about three or four times.”

Dorothea blushed and smacked him lightly in the chest. “Do you think you might want to rearrange this room? It doesn’t really make sense as it is.”

Hubert folded his paper and looked around. This room had been untouched for years, and was hardly welcoming. He looked at the precious chaise lounge that he dreaded the idea of guests sitting on or spilling food or drink on. He looked at the tea stain on the hardwood. He looked at Dorothea and wondered if she wouldn’t mind helping him get it up the stairs and away from this room. “What do you think about moving the chaise lounge up to my bedroom? To help fill up some of the space in there.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” They spent the morning in their pajamas rearranging the precious sitting room. They rotated out some of Edelgard’s preferred paintings and objects so that they could go elsewhere in the house, and rotated in things like Hubert’s pegasus statue and some paintings of dark forests with fresh snowfall. Dorothea didn’t mention the stain on the wood or suggest that it be covered up, but it was no longer such a focus of the room now that the chaise lounge was out of there. A few different chairs were brought down and arranged around the fireplace. This was going to be a great parlor for drinking cocoa and telling stories. This place wasn’t a tomb any more, now it was going to be a nice place to retire with close friends.

***

“Please sit down,” said Hubert carefully. Dorothea raised her eye brow and sat down on his bed. She folded her arms and stared at him and the box in his hand.

“And what pray tell is inside there?”

It was a nice box, cherry wood with a velvet interior. Hubert was extremely nervous as he lifted the lid. Dorothea didn’t say anything. She frowned and looked up at him, “I’m sorry, please walk me through what this is.”

Hubert bit his lip and pulled out the ornate strap on. “This is the Emperor’s cock.” He passed it to Dorothea who appraised it with a very confused look. “I found it when I was in the attic over the weekend.”

“And who was she using this beauty on?”

“Don’t worry, I assure you it has been very thoroughly cleaned,” promised Hubert, although that was mostly for his benefit.

“She used this on the professor, didn’t she?”

“I do not have confirmation or denial that this was ever used, but let us assume yes,” said Hubert as he willed his brain not to envision such a thing.

“And why are you giving it to me?”

“Well, you seem to have been enjoying just utterly dominating me recently, so I thought you might enjoy using it,” Hubert swallowed, “On me.”

“You want me to fuck you with the Emperor’s cock,” clarified Dorothea skeptically.

“When you say it like that it really makes me wish I could just go back in time and take this all back,” said Hubert sheepishly as he set the empty box aside.

“This isn’t some strange wanting to be with Edie after all unrequited weird sex thing right?” Dorothea was frowning.

Hubert held up his hands, “I would happily buy you a new one of these, I just happen to know first hand that this is a really nice one and I’m rich, but even this is out of my price range. It just seems like a shame to have sitting unused in the attic.” He put up his hands as if to pray, which he never did, “This is just a simple desire on my part to have you truly on top.”

Dorothea looked at the harnesses and looked at Hubert. She looked at the well endowed artisan hand carved cock and looked at Hubert some more. “And what did you bring for me to make this go into you smoothly?”

Hubert’s brain laughed at him. “Oh, shit. Well I suppose we could raid the pantry for some cooking oil—”

Dorothea’s eyes glinted, “No, I think I have a slightly more interesting idea. Lock the door.”

Hubert hopped up to comply. Dorothea had pulled her delicate black thong to the side and was now laying on his bed and starting to finger herself. She handed him the strap on, “Use it on me, and then I’ll use it on you.”

Hubert didn’t often feel lucky, he mostly felt unlucky, but right now he felt like the luckiest man on earth as he gently prepared Dorothea to lubricate up this strap on with her own wetness.

“Well, Edie always did have great taste,” gasped Dorothea as Hubert worked the strap on into her.

“Oh, I picked this out,” Hubert whispered wickedly.

“No,” she whined. “How on earth—”

“I was given an order to find the finest strap on in Fodlan, and I am very good at my job,” said Hubert as he watched the rise and fall of Dorothea’s chest.

He wanted to be that sex toy so badly as he slid it in and out of her, and watched her body writhing in pleasure. She bit her lip and peered at him out of one eye, “Is it wet enough yet?” It was plenty wet, and Hubert resisted his natural urge to just go and drink all of her up as he pulled the fake cock from her. Getting it on her was rather simple and Dorothea looked down at the massive strap on with a dangerous delight in her eyes, “Well, I’ve certainly never done this to a man before.”

“A first for me as well,” whispered Hubert as he stared at her in tense anticipation. He would have never guessed how much such a sight of a beautiful woman wearing a beautiful fake penis would turn him on. He was almost ashamed by how much he liked when Dorothea completely dominated him and ordered him around. That was probably some deep seated sexual baggage from becoming a vassal at age six, but what did he care how his kinks had come to be? All he knew was Dorothea was especially good at being on top and she was the only one he could ever trust to fuck him properly in this way.

Dorothea guided Hubert down into the pillows and gently spread his legs apart so she could settle in between them. He looked up at her and tried not to gasp too much as she eased her fingers inside of him. Her lip lifted slightly with satisfaction as she got him ready. “Have you been waiting for me to do this to you all day?”

“All weekend,” whispered Hubert, trying not to sound too desperately eager. He had been preparing himself for this since Ferdinand made the mistake of finding Edelgard’s most private belongings in the attic.

Dorothea bit her lip, “And here I was all disappointed last night when you fell asleep. Had I known you just wanted to be super awake for this, I wouldn’t have been so disgruntled with you.”

“Punish me for it,” whispered Hubert.

“Oh Hubie,” she said as her eyes glittered with mischief. “If you can still walk when I’m through with you then I haven’t been doing my job.”

With that, Dorothea glided the extension of herself into him. Hubert felt his breath catching in his chest at the unfamiliar sensation. It wasn’t like having the actual flesh of a man inside of him, but it was pretty nice and made even better by the fact that Dorothea was the one in control of it. She went slowly at first and then started picking up speed. Hubert wasn’t even touching himself but he was painfully aroused as she thrust against him and his cock brushed between both of their stomachs.

His legs had found their way up around her sides, and her arms came down to hold his hips to pull as if to force herself further inside. It was a complete role reversal for them and Hubert felt an unexpected moan cross his lips as she went as deep as she could.

“Sing for me Hubie,” she teased as she continued. Dorothea’s breasts were barely contained within her lingerie, and as she got into it Hubert wondered vaguely if they were just going to bust free completely. At certain points she practically buried his face inside her cleavage as she thrust into him, and Hubert could frankly suffocate here and be happy about it.

Hubert didn’t have words for this. A curse didn’t feel right, and he never invoked the goddess for anything. So he moaned her name instead, as well as made a lot of noises that weren’t words at all. People called him a dog in school, well, if they could hear him now they’d be proved right with the way he was panting and whining in pleasure as Dorothea straight up fucked him with the emperor’s cock.

He felt himself getting close but he didn’t want it to be over. His body didn’t give him much choice as he felt himself let go. Dorothea was pressed up right against him as it happened and Hubert no longer cared about the sounds he was making as his body jerked with satisfaction.

Dorothea slowed but didn’t stop. He’d gone and gotten them both pretty messy but Hubert could honestly care less at the moment because his poor brain didn’t have quite enough blood for thinking about it. Dorothea pushed his hair out of his eyes and stared down at him playfully, “I think you enjoyed that.”

Hubert nodded weakly as his hands came up to hold her as she continued to gently rock within him. Dorothea smiled, “Well, I enjoyed the sounds you made, but don’t try out for the opera.”

Hubert braced himself as she gently pulled out of him completely. He looked at her, not in shame, but rather in a little bit of self satisfied shock, “I’m all over you aren’t I?”

Dorothea smirked, “You’re all over yourself as well.” It was true; apparently saving oneself for a several days banked up quite a bit of semen.

Hubert sat up and carefully unharnessed the strap on from Dorothea. “Well you’ll have to let me clean you up.”

The place didn’t have electric yet, but thankfully it had been fitted for gas and plumbing over the years. Hubert had purchased actual nice soaps for it and selected one he knew she would enjoy, a lavender scented one. He let the water come on and then pulled Dorothea into the warmth of the candle lit shower.

“Nice choice,” she smiled as she smelled the soap, “Have you been studying my preferences?”

“You mean all that clutter in the bathroom? Yes I might have taken a look or two.”

He carefully massaged her head as he washed her hair, and then quickly did his own before lathering them both up with soap. It was amazing to slide against her with no friction at all. He wasn’t ready to go at her again, but if this shower drew on too long he might have no choice. When they were clean Hubert found a big fluffy bathrobe he’d discovered in the linen closet and pulled it around them. “Sorry, there’s only the one,” he whispered.

“You don’t feel sorry,” she teased as his cock started to get hard against her again.

“Can you blame me?” he whispered before kissing her deeply.

“I’m not just wet from the shower,” she said playfully as she pulled the robe a little tighter around them both. “And this seems as fine a place as any.”

Hubert didn’t need her to say it twice as he eased her down onto the tile, cushioned by the robe. He carefully supported Dorothea’s head in one of his hands to keep it protected and placed his other at the small of her back to help bring her up towards him.

Goosebumps rippled across their skin as they kept each other warm and Dorothea’s musical calls of delight echoed off the marble in the bathroom. He’d learned to move to the rhythm of her sexual singing, she let him know with her tempo how fast or slow he should be going and right now her notes were low and drawn out because she wanted him in her deep and moving slow. There weren’t words to this song, just notes produced from somewhere hidden inside her, escaping her lips like the most base opera ever composed.

Hubert knew the whole house could probably hear what was going on right now but he didn’t really care. The only thing his mind could focus on was her and the incredible feeling of being within her. There was nothing complicated about this, it was just simple euphoria.

People could write this off as plain, vanilla sex and Hubert would gladly lecture them that vanilla was a flavor all on its own. It came from a wonderfully sexual looking exotic orchid that produced a rather phallic looking bean capable of delivering a rich, stand alone flavor. It was the delicious foundation upon which crazy banana split sex they’d enjoyed earlier were built upon. This type of loving had to be good to make the more complicated adventures work, and Hubert and Dorothea shared an exceptionally strong vanilla blend. This felt right after many years of feeling wrong, and Hubert didn’t want to be anywhere else.

He was careful not to make a mess this time because another shower and things that would inevitably follow might actually destroy him. They migrated back into bed and huddled together beneath the blankets. The nights were getting cooler as fall fell upon Fodlan. Cold long nights meant close bored bodies, and thus Hubert’s favorite time of year.

They lay in silence in the dark until finally Hubert worked up the courage to say something that had been on his mind quite a bit recently, “I love you.”

To his utter horror, instead of simply saying ‘ _I love you too Hubert_ ’, Dorothea instead asked, “Why?”

“What?” whispered Hubert weakly.

“People tell me they love me all the time,” said Dorothea in a matter of fact way. “I’d like to know why you suddenly feel this way, and I swear if it’s just about what we were doing tonight—”

“I’m not suddenly in love with you,” protested Hubert. Nothing could be further from the truth; this wasn’t a new feeling, just one he was finally brave enough to share. Although this kind of reaction was exactly why he kept his feelings firmly private.

“Fine, when did you come to this realization?”

“Probably when you declared to everyone that I should be called Hubie instead of _‘go away’_ ,” confessed Hubert as he sat up to light a candle. This no longer felt like a conversation to be had in the dark, and he figured if he had to be grilled about his feelings he ought to at least be able to see Dorothea’s face to measure her reactions to his words.

She was staring at him with her head propped up by one of her arms. Her green eyes were intense in their attention and she looked a little suspicious of him. “You’re seriously saying you’ve been in love with me since we started at Garreg Mach?”

“Maybe not in love like that, but yes, that was when I first started considering you someone worth keeping close by and protecting,” said Hubert defensively as he stared back at her. That was the most basic form of love to him, to have someone that one held close to their heart and did anything they could to keep them safe and happy. He certainly loved more people now than he had in his entire life, but to find that these feelings he held for Edelgard might be possible for others had been a big step in Hubert’s journey to becoming someone that people actually could care about. It made it possible for him to do things that didn’t actively push everyone away, and by the time the war got going Hubert had a great deal of love for all the strike force even if he still had trouble expressing it.

He found his voice to be much quieter than he intended but it was hard to speak up when she was looking at him like she was, “You and Petra were the first people at school, really the only people for a while, to be nice to me other than Edelgard. You weren’t afraid of me, at all, which was a little annoying at first but then I realized it was nice to have more than one friend. Then, when we started getting physical with each other, how could I not fall in love with you? You were the first person I’d ever been with like that, and you made me want to be around you all the time even though the war made that firmly impossible.”

“What else do you feel about me?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” demanded Hubert. This was supposed to be a nice big moment, not a terrible interview like he did with captured Slithers before executing them.

“Maybe I’ve been picking up some tips in my spy training,” she said with annoyance. He should have never enrolled her in that rookie training course because she had an incredible natural talent for this type of work and now she was learning to hone her skills on him.

“Other things I feel for you,” started Hubert as he considered her question. “Well, I trust you, maybe more than I should, clearly.” She frowned at him and he returned it. He thought about how rough the war had been on her, “I respect you for working as hard as you do and never giving up even when things are difficult.” He paused as he thought about the rest of his feelings. “I empathize with you for growing up in a bad situation and not having anyone that cared about you. But instead of being reduced to anger and bitterness like me, I’m in awe of the way you learned to take care of yourself and take what you want. You never let anyone or anything stand in your way. And finally, I’m grateful that you’re still sticking around me, even if I don’t quite understand why.”

Dorothea didn’t look annoyed with him any more. It was hard to read her face, but Hubert thought she possibly looked a little sad. She swallowed uneasily, “You really don’t understand why I’m here?”

“I’m trying not to question it too much,” whispered Hubert honestly. When he did start to think about it too much that’s when the feelings of despair that this was going to come to an end started to creep in.

“Goddess,” she sighed as she took one of his hands. “I’m here because I love you too.”

Now it was Hubert’s turn to be the killjoy, “Why? Why on earth would you feel that way?”

“Because whether you know it or not, you challenged me once to see what it was like to devote myself to another person. And after a great deal of searching, including few false leads, I’ve somehow landed right back with you. We’re both different from who we were, older, wiser, a little sadder and a little happier than during the war. You finally learned what I knew how to do best, how to be on your own and take care of yourself, and I finally learned what you know best, about learning to care for another person as much as myself,” she said before she kissed his hand and looked up at him.

He gently brushed away the little tears in her eyes. “I regret I wasn’t brave enough to ask you on a date during the war.”

“Yeah maybe we could have been doing this for the last fifteen years instead of all the other shit we were up to,” said Dorothea ruefully.

Hubert didn’t agree. He wasn’t right for her then but he dared to dream he might be right for her now. He recognized there were still a lot of problems with that idea, and some important things he needed to tell her about what had happened to him following the war. She knew some of his darkest, most guarded secrets, but she didn’t know them all, and she really needed to if this was ever going to work. However, that was tomorrow’s problem, not tonight’s.

“Before Edelgard decided to court you, I was planning on taking you stargazing, that was the only thing I could come up with,” admitted Hubert. “You probably would have found it lame.”

Dorothea balked, “Lame? That sounds very romantic Hubie! Maybe we should do it right now.”

“Like, right now, right now?”

“Well it’s night time, and you can certainly protect me from all the scary country things lurking in the dark,” smiled Dorothea as she got out of bed and started putting on some warm clothes. “I don’t really know anything about stars.”

She and Hubert spent a good chunk of time in the cooling night cuddling while on a nice cozy blanket, and Hubert finally got to tell Dorothea about all the constellations they could see. It probably would have been a decent first date back in 1182, but, here in 1196 it was a perfect ‘first date’ for two people who had just learned how to tell each other that they loved the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The strap-on was a one off joke from the first chapter that somehow became Chekhov's cock. 
> 
> Maybe I should be sorry for those mental images I've forced on you, but let's be real, when I have I ever been sorry? This is the most porny thing that happens in the fic, which still has some ground to cover like a whole class reunion to which Ferdinand invited EVERYONE. What could go wrong?


	12. Class of 1180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the reunion begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important context for things referenced in this chapter are the 2 previous works in the series:
> 
> [War and Whispers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21641623/chapters/51605761)
> 
> [Things lost in the pillars of light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855709/chapters/52161694)

Ferdinand was very much like hot air and sought to fill up all the space he occupied. The reunion at Hubert’s was no different. Every single room was spoken for and Hubert pleaded softly with the universe that no one altered their RSVP to a yes at the last minute. How Ferdinand might have expected to carry this out in his smart little Enbarr townhouse was unfathomable. Hubert and Dorothea had given up the master bedroom to Ferdinand and Bernadetta so they’d have space for a cot for Florence and crib for Ferdie Jr. The next biggest room was reserved for Claude and Petra and their three, wait, surprise now there were four, small children. Linhardt and Caspar would share a small room, the professor and Mercedes were being put in a children’s room with two twin beds. Lorenz was in a study which he was sure to complain about. Hilda and Marianne were also in a small room together although no one was quite sure if they were ‘together’ or not. Hubert and Dorothea, after much back and forth about appearances and labels, were also sharing a room because there was simply no space for them to sleep separately.

The no’s were merciful, and the maybes were a pain in the ass. Ingrid had immediately declined which was great because she and Sylvain had five children. Annette was not interested, and Ashe was also definitely not interested after his interactions with Hubert near the end of the war. Ignatz had said maybe, and Raphael had responded with “F the empire” which Hubert interpreted as a no. Leonie was also a maybe but said not to worry about accommodations if she showed. Felix was the only person not to respond at all.

Anything questionable — the emperor’s cock, Dorothea’s big nude painting, and other assorted oddities — was safely hidden deep in the locked attic. Ferdinand insisted that if the weather was good they needed to have some sort of tournament because Ferdinand, while a lovely person, was also a competitive asshole who was in great shape and wanted everyone to know that he had kept up with his lance work. Caterers were brought in, security was hired since there was foreign royalty coming, and Hubert spent way too much time shopping around for fun board games and toys to keep children from ages one to ten happily occupied since idiotic Ferdinand had proclaimed, ‘oh yes, please bring all your kids’ on every invite.

***

Dorothea could sense that Hubert was stressed as the first guests began to arrive, “If you want I can try to keep Petra and Claude away from you.”

He shook his head, “Honestly, it’s fine. Petra and I write each other every couple months, we’re good, I’m happy for her. As for Claude, I’m convinced he is a very smart sounding idiot, but maybe he’s really an idiotic genius, I’m not really sure. Either way, I can tolerate him for a weekend here and there. Like if say we were to ever visit Brigid—”

“You want to go on a vacation with me?” Dorothea was pretty sure Hubert’s last vacation had been his road trip when he took down von Varley, von Aegir, and his own father, and she wasn’t sure that counted.

Hubert shrugged, “Vacation, work trip, you know me. There might be Slithers there, on the beaches. We won’t know unless we go.”

“You, Hubert von Vestra, want to go to a beach?”

“I lived almost three years underground, I appreciate the sun a lot more now,” protested Hubert. “Plus the forests are renown for rare plants. Maybe Bernadetta and Ferdinand would want to come.”

“Oh my goddess, you’re planning a couples trip to Brigid,” laughed Dorothea as she tried to picture what that would look like.

“No, no, a research trip, we could gather potential poisons, carnivorous plants, and the like,” said Hubert back tracking.

The royal pair of Brigid came in with their three rambunctious children and one tiny small baby that slept soundly against Petra’s chest. Hubert seemed unperturbed as he shook Claude’s hand.

“Congratulations,” said Dorothea as she hugged Petra.

Petra groaned as she glared at Claude, “This one was not on purpose. But these things are happening.”

Hubert and Petra awkwardly hugged. “It’s been a long time,” he said. “You seem well.”

“You are looking, better,” said Petra. Dorothea knew that Petra had probably not seen him since the end of the war since he’d skipped her wedding and hid out at Edelgard’s funeral.

“Claude, Petra, how about I show you to your room so you can freshen up?” suggested Dorothea as she saw the professor’s horse on the horizon. That meant the Garreg Mach crew was almost here and Dorothea couldn’t wait to see them.

Dorothea couldn’t believe she was nervous around Petra and what her reaction might be to the idea that Dorothea and Hubert were kind of a thing. The children were chasing each other playing tag as the three adults led the way. Claude carried the bags, “You know Dorothea, I’ve heard the most interesting rumor about you.”

Dorothea went white, “What, what have you heard?”

“That you’re dating Ferdinand’s opponent in this election,” said Claude. He raised his eyebrows.

Dorothea relaxed, “Oh, yeah, Minister Reynolds. Dating, more like opposition research!”

“You are just seeing him for information?” Petra sounded shocked.

“Well it’s certainly not for his personality,” joked Dorothea. He was very self absorbed and talked on for hours about himself with barely a passing thought towards her opinions. She was a bottom tier spy at the moment and her supervisor at the West Enbarr Ministry of Whispers branch was having her be courted by a few politicians for intelligence on their dealings. Hubert argued he had too much of a conflict of interest to be assigning her missions, but Dorothea suspected he had pulled strings to make sure all her assignments were safe and boring dates rather any actual dangerous surveillance. However she wasn’t going to argue about getting paid to be taken on dates by bores she was helping to undermine.

“So Vestra just lives here alone,” said Claude as he looked up at the high ceilings of the manor. “I guess this is exactly what I pictured for him.”

Dorothea felt a mixture of sadness and anger as she thought about the reasons why Hubert clung to the big house, “This is where he cared for Edelgard in her final years. Just him, doing everything.” Dorothea was relieved to have reached their room, “And here’s where you’ll be sleeping.” The bedrooms turned offices had all been changed back into bedrooms once more. Dorothea was secretly glad Hubert’s assistant had insisted the beds and cribs be put into storage and not thrown away like Hubert had suggested because surely people would visit someday. The very empty house was about to be very full this week.

She practically fled as soon as they had gone in. She could hear Caspar’s voice and felt relieved there were more people here now. “The acoustics in this place are amazing!” shouted Caspar. He had grown a ridiculous walrus mustache in the last few years that tickled Dorothea’s ear as he hugged her.

“How are the students faring without their favorite professors?” demanded Dorothea as she hugged her old crush and rival for the Emperor’s affections.

Byleth shrugged, “Not my problem this week. I can’t wait to see the show.” Hubert had arranged for all of them to see the opera for it’s Friday evening performance.

“Wonderful, you’re just in time, we’re closing soon,” smiled Dorothea. She was dying to get their reactions to how they were portrayed.

Mercedes was looking around, “Wow, this place was definitely decorated by Edelgard.”

It was undeniable, while this was Hubert’s house it was filled to the brim with the personality of the late Emperor. Dorothea gave Mercedes a tight hug and immediately pulled back, “Oh you’re pregnant?” Seriously, what was in the water? Had no one heard of pulling out?

Mercedes self consciously smiled as she exchanged a look with her fellow professors who all seemed to be in on some secret, “Yes, I’m at seven, almost eight months.”

Dorothea awkwardly watched Mercedes taking off her coat. She was quite pregnant actually, and Dorothea hadn’t even realized she was with anyone. It was kind of surprising really, Mercedes was older than all of them, probably 39 if Dorothea remembered correctly. That was in a weird way comforting to Dorothea who had just quietly turned 35 and felt like she was getting way too old to start a family. She still hadn’t gotten a straight answer from Hubert about what he felt about having children, but maybe this week spent surrounded by kids and babies and one very pregnant lady would finally be the push needed to get him to tell her his opinion.

As everyone was settling into their rooms, Dorothea joined Hubert in the kitchen. He was not cooking, leaving that to the professionals, but passed her a glass of wine which she readily accepted to take off the edge. It was only 2 pm and Hubert was already tipsy, fuck, this was like school.

“You seem really stressed,” he noted. “I know you don’t want to say anything, but would it be easier if we just came out?”

“Came out as what? You don’t want to call me your girlfriend and I don’t want to make things uncomfortable,” said Dorothea with irritation. In reality she was extremely insecure about their relationship. They now said ‘I love you’, but that had been a huge leap all on its own. Hubert was quiet when it came to any discussion of a shared future, and that made Dorothea quite worried. He’d already pushed her away during the war because he didn’t think he could make her happy, and she was consumed with worry he was about to do the same dumb thing again. She’d try to cling on but there was only so much she could do and say to convince him she was happy.

“Well, girlfriend implies a more traditional relationship. I don’t really think that’s what we share,” whispered Hubert. “But if that’s what you think we should be called—”

There was nothing traditional about her relationship with Hubert. They went on dates to strip clubs for fuck’s sake, they pretended to be icy Lady Thorn and Lord Vestra when they were really routing through the personal belongings of party hosts, they did things together that managed to be more raunchy than Bernadetta’s erotica collection.

Dorothea sighed and drank some wine, “We’ll leave it at lovers.” Girlfriend felt like a title meant to progress to fiancee and wife, which frankly Dorothea didn’t feel like Hubert was especially interested in.

Hubert sipped his own wine uncomfortably. “Oh, by the way,” Hubert started as he pulled out a book, “I got you a birthday present.”

Dorothea read the title, _Dark and Dangerous XI: Mistresses and Monsters_ , “Is this a joke?”

“Open it,” suggested Hubert.

She flipped the book open and found it hollowed out, there was a little box inside. Hubert toasted her with his wine glass, “It’s a way to smuggle stuff. It might come in handy.”

“Ah very practical.” Dorothea opened the little box and found her broken earrings, the one that baby Ferdie had pulled from her ear, had been fixed, “Oh Hubert, thank you, you didn’t have to go to this trouble.” They had been incredibly cheap earrings, but they were her favorites and she was delighted to have them back.

He shrugged, “It was easier to get them fixed then to guess what new ones to buy.”

Dorothea could not help herself, “Well, just to let you know, I like big flashy diamonds and rubies in case you ever did want to buy me some earrings—”

“Noted,” smirked Hubert as he gently kissed her on the side of the head. He whispered in her ear, “Maybe you can break out your granny nightgown later, I’d love for you to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you in bed.”

Dorothea sneered and then kissed him back, “Only if you wear your reading glasses to find my pussy again old man—”

Mercedes had come into the kitchen and Dorothea did not miss how Hubert’s face changed from relaxed and happy to highly surprised and then impossible to read. Mercedes was looking at Hubert uncomfortably, “Do you have some time to talk?”

“Sure,” said Hubert before draining his wine glass and then taking Mercedes somewhere private to talk.

Dorothea watched them go knowing something was off but then Caspar and Linhardt came into the kitchen to distract her. “Hey, which one is Hubert’s most expensive wine?” Caspar was eagerly but ignorantly looking at the selection. Hubert had purchased a great deal of wine for the reunion. Wine drunk Hubert was always a fun time, but Dorothea most looked forward to taunting poor wine hungover Hubert tomorrow morning.

“You like reds just pick one,” groaned Linhardt.

“Oh I’ve missed you both,” smiled Dorothea as she hugged them together.

“How’s Enbarr?” asked Linhardt as he poured himself a very full glass and then just passed Caspar the rest of the bottle to drink from.

“It’s been interesting,” shrugged Dorothea. “But um, Garreg Mach gossip much? I kind of thought Mercie had reconnected with Annie, clearly she’s been connecting with someone else.”

“Oh they’re doing some long distance letter writing thing. I think they’re still working on becoming friends again,” said Caspar, completely ignoring the second part of Dorothea’s question.

Dorothea frowned, “Okay but who knocked her up?”

Caspar and Linhardt exchanged glances and then each took suspiciously long sips. Dorothea stared at them, “Please, don’t leave me guessing.”

“Well, we are also guessing,” said Linhardt as a flush crept across his face.

Dorothea’s eyes bulged, “Excuse me, I thought you two—”

Caspar in a rare physical affirmation of their relationship, wrapped a big burly arm around Linhardt’s thin waist, “We’re co-parenting with Mercie! We both tried knocking her up, and our baby will have two dads and a mom!”

“Oh!” managed Dorothea in surprise. It wasn’t at all what she was expecting, “That’s, that’s really nice, congratulations.”

“Thank you,” said Caspar enthusiastically. “My dad is not happy about it, but fuck ‘im.”

“Your dad’s just not happy because it might be mine and not yours,” snapped Linhardt. He looked at Dorothea, “I think he’s nervous there might finally be a tall Bergliez.”

“Hey!” snapped Caspar as Linhardt planted a kiss on top of his head to show him how he towered over his short lover.

***

Hubert wiped his face and stared at Mercedes, who was biting her lip. She looked at him in concern, “Are you alright?”

Hubert wished he had more wine. “Sorry, congratulations, I’m being rude, sorry,” he whispered rapidly. His brain and his heart were in a fierce dialogue right now. Seeing her like this was a pleasant but painful surprise.

“It’s okay, it’s a lot to process,” said Mercie as she rested her hands on top of her belly. “I should have written you ahead of time to give you some warning. I just, I didn’t want to jinx myself.”

“It’s fine,” said Hubert, who was not feeling especially fine. Once upon a time he and Mercedes had experienced the ups of impending parenthood, and the unforgiving downs of that loss. Their relationship had never recovered and Hubert carried a lot of regrets over it.

“I just really wanted to have a child, after some time passed,” she explained.

“It’s been seven, almost eight years, you deserve to get what you want,” struggled Hubert as he tried not to think about the child they might have had and how she might have been excitedly chasing around Florence von Aegir and all the von Reigan children right about now. She had a name, Emilie von Vestra, and their dark seals had doomed her.

“I do want this,” Mercedes said with a nod. “As do Caspar and Linhardt.”

“The three of you, I think I need more wine,” joked Hubert weakly. He knew the pair of idiots were older, but it was hard to picture them as fathers. At least this poor kid would have Mercie to protect them from those two morons.

“Oh be nice,” teased Mercie as she took his hand.

“I’m not very nice,” said Hubert.

“You can be,” said Mercie warmly.

Hubert sighed and stared at her, “And everything is going alright?”

She nodded and sighed, “I am due in a month and a half. So far, no problems.”

“Good,” whispered Hubert. He really needed a glass of wine, fuck. “Um, I have something in the garden I think you might like to see.” He helped her up and hoped that she wouldn’t mind his small monument to the dead they’d lost to the Slithers. He really hoped she would find it as meaningful as he did.

They walked rather slowly, as Mercedes was more waddle than walk at this point. It was a very nice fall day and the sun glinted off the black stone monument in the garden. Mercedes quietly traced the name of her brother and her fallen Blue Lion house mates, and then lastly Emilie’s name. “This is lovely Hubert,” whispered Mercedes as tears brimmed in her eyes.

“I didn’t bring you out here to make you cry,” whispered Hubert as he gestured for her to come sit on his little bench. He rubbed his chest where he used to wear their wedding rings on a chain before they been stolen off of him when he was taken to the insane asylum. They’d likely been pawned off and Hubert could only hope that they’d ended up representing a real and happy marriage not the sadness of a broken fake one.

“Well,” sniffled Mercedes. “I cry often, but I’m glad that I can again.” She sat and Hubert cautiously draped his right arm over the bench behind her. Mercedes sobbed a little bit as she rested her head on his shoulder. She was staring at his left arm where he’d carelessly rolled up his sleeves while doing some last minute prep for the reunion earlier. His scars from his suicide attempt were pretty clear. Mercedes knew all the scars he’d gotten up through 1188, “Those are new. Dare I ask who did that to you?”

Hubert stared at the long sloppy lines as he brought his arm closer for her to study. He sighed, “I did this to myself.”

Mercedes traced them, “When?”

“Just after Edelgard was interred,” whispered Hubert.

“And how are you now?” Mercedes’ big blue eyes always had a strange effect on him, it was almost impossible to lie to her and get away with it.

“I’m good,” promised Hubert. “I have some more reasons to stick around these days. Like for instance the mystery of whether you’re carrying a baby Caspar or baby Linhardt.”

Mercedes groaned, “You haven’t changed at all have you? Turning a serious moment into a joke—”

“I have changed, and hopefully improved,” smiled Hubert weakly. “But seriously, is it a sleepy baby or a punchy baby?”

Mercedes let out a mischievous scoff and took Hubert’s hand and guided it towards the low end of her right side, “Here we have a rather resilient napper,” and she ran her hand up to the top left where Hubert could feel the small persistent beat of kicks, “And here there appears to be a tiny brawler.”

“Twins, fuck, no wonder you’re so massive,” muttered Hubert in disbelief. “And what do Caspar and Lin have to say about that?”

“Well keep it to yourself, I’ve been wrong before when it comes to interpreting things about unborn babies, I don’t want to get their hopes up. Maybe it’s just one really large baby that will look just like me,” suggested Mercedes coyly.

“Whatever the outcome, I hope he or she or they are healthy and smoothly delivered,” said Hubert as he withdrew his hand.

“Me too,” said Mercedes as she brought up a hand to massage each little life within her. “So, what have you been up to. Your letters are always painfully vague.”

“I’m organizing a black market sting that I am very excited about,” said Hubert as he thought about the upcoming bust.

“I meant with Dorothea you goon,” said Mercedes as she prodded him. “I saw you practically making out in the kitchen. You should see your face when you look at her.”

Hubert withdrew his arm from behind her to swat away her pokes, “My face? Probably still ugly—”

“Goddess, please, you look utterly in love with her,” teased Mercedes.

Hubert felt a flush rising to his cheeks, “Well I could never hide anything from you could I?”

“Well as long as you’re not hiding it from her this time I won’t have to say anything,” threatened Mercedes gently. She knew all about his stupid decision to encourage Edelgard’s affections towards Dorothea at the expense of his own feelings.

Hubert drew in a slow breath, “Ugh, small steps, I told her I love her. And guess what, she actually said it back. But I need to take my time, I’m a divorcee and my ex-wife is sleeping with two gay guys, I have a lot of baggage to unpack.”

“Ex fake wife,” corrected Mercedes as she crossed her arms and pretended to be offended, “And trust me, I only did our mutual friends as much as I needed to get knocked up, they are not skilled with a vagina.”

Hubert burst out chuckling at the thought of Caspar confronted with a naked woman and Mercedes sighed, “I must say the professor is much more talented in that arena.”

“Oh my, what is happening at Garreg Mach these days?” Perhaps Hubert might not have dropped out early to start a war if sex-ed had been offered in the days of Seteth and Rhea.

“I just found orgy Tuesday in Shambhala to be so wonderful I had to institute it at school,” joked Mercedes, even though orgy Tuesday had been a very real thing advertised on the underground elevators in the Agarthan stronghold. “Byleth is a casual lover at best, she’s great, but she’s also wary about this communal parenting thing. I think once they’re here she might change her tune, but as of right now she’s pretty sure we’re crazy for embarking on this journey.”

***

Claude, not really knowing anyone other than Petra very well, had glued himself to Hubert for the start of the reunion. Caspar had never really forgiven Claude for trying to attack Linhardt at Derdriu and was not quiet about how mad it still made him. Hubert and Claude had exchanged official correspondence during the war, making him somehow Claude’s closest thing to a friend while Petra was catching up with Bernadetta, Dorothea, and Byleth.

This made Hubert incredibly relieved to see Hilda finally arrive, late as usual, with Marianne in tow. Hilda had swapped her pigtails for a nice ponytail, but was still a boisterous and strong lady, “Hubie! It’s been, well it hasn’t been long enough! When I heard this was at your house I was afraid you were finally going to kill us all.”

“Hilda, my love,” said Hubert patiently as he handed a glass of wine, “Please enjoy this completely not poisoned wine.”

Hilda paused and looked at Marianne to pass her the glass, “Surely you wouldn’t risk killing Marianne, not after that magical evening she treated us to after Fhirdiad.” Marianne had let them snuggle baby pegasi all night, and saved them from a mortifying drunken hook up. It was a hazy memory that still managed to out-rank most sex partners because baby pegasi were precious creatures that he was not ashamed to adore.

Hubert smirked and shrugged, “I guess you’ll just have to find out won’t you.”

Hilda looked a little nervous until Marianne rolled her eyes and drank the wine, and didn’t drop dead. Hubert smiled and kissed Marianne on the cheek, honestly glad to see them both, and not just because he got to unload Claude onto them.

***

Sylvain and Ingrid were arguing as they rolled up. “It’s going to be fine,” said Sylvain in an unconvincing lie.

“Why did you agree to this, and then decide to trick me into coming here? Official Enbarr business, ugh,” sighed Ingrid as she focused on making their eleven year old son Glenn look presentable. He was like a little blond Sylvain that thankfully had her demeanor. The last thing she needed was a little flirt going through puberty. Perhaps unfortunately he and the rest of the kids seemed to have inherited her appetite. She had five future fortress knights on her hands and as she looked at them she realized there was no containing the wild messiness of the Galatea-Gautier brood.

“It was the only way to get you to come!” protested Sylvain.

Hubert stared at the seven of them, as clearly put off by the surprise as Ingrid was, “Let me make some adjustments.”

Before Lihardt could protest Caspar had already offered up their room. Byleth offered to sleep on the couch without considering poor super pregnant Mercedes who Hubert was now putting in his room and trying to figure out where the fuck he and Dorothea might end up. Marianne meekly suggested that she and Hilda could take one bed and Hubert and Dorothea could have the other.

Sylvain thanked everyone profusely while Ingrid shook her head. She only had her right arm after the war, and she often imagined her left hand just flipping everyone off especially her dumbass husband.

***

Leonie had been a maybe, and had proclaimed she was just going to sleep outside when she finally arrived. Raph and Ignatz showed up with her and their own tents to do some sort of weird Golden Deer camp out in the back yard. Raphael had at least the courtesy of bringing extra food because Hubert now feared there was not going to be enough with all these people, even though Dorothea assured him there was plenty. Lorenz rolled up in a magnificent purple carriage with lots of extra tea and wine and way too many bags. This left one person unaccounted for: Felix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GLENN! Glenn is back! And not a baby like in War and Whispers haha, and probably very confused by all these strangers who know him


	13. Class of 1180 Reunion...part 2

Everyone was gathered and chatting over refreshments on the patio as the sunset painted the sky a beautiful mix of pinks and purples. Ferdinand had really chosen the best time of year to host this weather wise. It was the right temperature for nothing more than a light sweater, and not too hot to light up the fire pit. Optimal for the Adrestians and Leiscester folks who hated the cold, and perfect for the Faergheans who hated the heat. People were catching up, there was laughter, it was almost calming. Then babies started getting passed around to eager ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’ so excited to meet this next generation.

Hilda was watching this weird game of baby hot potato go down and pulled on Lorenz and Hubert’s ears on either side of her, “Yo, you other childless people want to get the fuck out of here?”

Hubert nodded towards the woods that encroached on the house, “There’s a nice path we can walk.”

“Lead the way host with the most,” ordered Hilda as she pulled Marianne away even though everyone knew Marianne would totally play baby hot potato in a heartbeat. Hubert would too at one time, but he wasn’t in the mood. Instead he led the four of them to the serene seclusion of the trail he’d been beating into the ground for the last couple years around the property.

“I do not mind children, I just do not care to hold them,” clarified Lorenz, “I know I would love my own if the blessing of fatherhood is ever bestowed upon me, but alas, not yet.”

Hilda shrugged, “I’m an aunt, that’s enough for me. When they start crying it’s like, ‘here you go Holst!’ and I get to walk away.”

“I breed pegasi so, I get my fill,” said Marianne wistfully. Hubert then proceeded to bore the crap out of Hilda and Lorenz by asking every question he had about pegasus breeding and ownership and what all went into caring for one in case he ever decided to commit to getting one. Damn that would literally be a childhood dream come true.

When that was finally done the conversation turned towards Hilda’s surprisingly sweet courtship of Marianne, and Lorenz’s continuing lack of success with ladies. Hubert was extremely tempted to ask him if he had ever considered men, but knew that would be super rude, even for him. If he wasn’t with Dorothea, Hubert would even consider showing Lorenz a thing or two, because somehow the purpled haired noble didn’t look as bad to Hubert’s eyes now that he was older. Still annoying for sure, but Lord Vestra had seduced far worse prey.

“I’m glad for you that you and Dorothea are back together,” said Marianne warmly.

Before Hubert could give a surprised ‘thank you’, Hilda was hanging on his shoulder, “Back together? I knew it! I called it when you two came out of the goddess tower looking like you fucked it into falling apart!”

“Hilda,” said Lorenz with a gasp. “That is very crude.”

“And untrue,” said Hubert recalling how they were actually getting their asses handed to them by Kronya on that particular evening. “We were never together at school—”

“Well at the school you did, uh, get together,” corrected Marianne.

Hubert liked Marianne too much to tell her to shut up, but Hilda was on the scent of some juicy gossip, “And how do you know that?”

“I saw them together, in the stables,” said Marianne with all the innocence of someone who didn’t lie to her best friend in the world.

Lorenz and Hilda had stopped walking and were exchanging glances. Lorenz looked horrified but Hilda looked elated, “Please go on!”

Hubert was holding his face in his hands as he recalled when he and Dorothea had finished up a pretty hot and heavy doggy style session and then heard Marianne sobbing as she ran away from her accidental front row seat to their romp. She had been coming to a place she felt safe in with Dorte the horse to process the battle for Garreg Mach and the loss of the professor, while Hubert and Dorothea had decided to ignore their feelings about losing the professor and tried to distract each other in a very different way.

Marianne blushed, “I know I lingered way too long, I just, I had never seen anyone doing that before. I didn’t realize how much it would be just like animals—”

Hilda was dying with laugher, and Hubert was dying of embarrassment, “You thought we looked like animals?” It had literally been the best sex of his short life at that point until his enthusiasm was crushed by the knowledge he and Dorothea had traumatized Marianne.

“Well the sounds—”

“Let’s stop this right now,” begged Hubert.

“No, please keep going,” wheezed Hilda between laughs.

“This is very off putting,” said Lorenz with secondhand embarrassment.

Marianne was very red, “I’m sorry!”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Hubert and Dorothea are the ones who should be begging for your forgiveness,” cackled Hilda.

“We did!” Hubert felt like he was transported back to that terrible moment all over again. It took him almost five years of war to finally get Marianne to look him in the eyes when they were speaking.

“Do you think you could imitate these sounds?” asked Hilda before Hubert tried tackling her into the dirt. “Hubie! So sensitive about your precious sexy noises!” She effortlessly threw him off of herself and pinned him to the ground with her foot. “I’m so excited to share a room with you two animals tonight.”

Hubert squeezed his eyes shut as she bent down and let her long ponytail tickle his nose, “Stop! Please do not mention this to Dorothea! We really thought we were alone!”

Lorenz finally pulled Hilda off of him, muttering something to the effect of, “You two are so strange.”

It was true. Hubert loved Hilda in a way he thought he never would. She had come back to save his ass on the Tailtean plains and he was forever grateful even if she was super annoying. She even seemed to love him back in a very odd way.

***

Dinner was interrupted with a knock to the door. Hubert answered the door with his ‘ _you have to be fucking joking_ ’ face. Annette Dominic, still a little red headed shrimp, stared up at him with two hands clutching the handle of her little suitcase. Hubert recalled the wording of her RSVP and said, “Sorry, not interested,” and slammed the door in her face. As he walked back towards the dining room the knocking turned to pounding and Hubert decided he really didn’t want her using one of her wind spells on his hinges.

“You know it’s really rude to change an RSVP at such a late hour,” chided Hubert as he gestured for her to enter.

“Well, it’s really rude to start a war with a continent—” piped up Annette as she pushed past him.

He walked behind her and looked at her ridiculous outfit. A white dress that was too innocent for the biggest bully in the school in his opinion, and a little orange cape that clashed with her hair. She wore a big bow to distract from her lack of breasts. Hubert sighed, he was pretty sure he only hated Ashe more than he hated Annette. Unfortunately his feelings were not mutual as she received a tempered greeting from members of the old Alliance and Empire, and a rousing cheerful welcome from the Faerghean few.

Hubert consoled himself with the mental image of Gilbert getting accidentally stepped on by one of the massive feet of the Immaculate One as he asked if anyone wanted to give up their bed for this party crashing wench. To his chagrin, Dorothea offered up theirs. Hubert took a long sip of wine and hoped that Hilda and Marianne had really loud sex all night and kept Annette wide awake and tortured while he considered where the heck he was going to sleep now.

Annette scampered away to hide in Ingrid and Sylvain’s massive family. She was so small she might be mistaken for one of their children.

Hubert took his seat next to Dorothea and gently touched the Sagittae scars on her back as he whispered in her ear, “You gave the bitch who did this to you our bed?”

Dorothea took a sip of wine and smiled at him devilishly, “I mean, you’re the one with the poison cabinet, it would be a shame if you showed me some itching powder that might accidentally fall on the sheets when I go to get our bags.”

“Purple vial, don’t use too much or her skin might fall off,” warned Hubert as he tried not to laugh.

The next interruption came about three glasses of wine later as one of Hubert’s agents hired on for security detail discretely pulled him from the party, “We have two intruders in holding in the barn.”

Ashe Ubert, still a baby faced little double crosser was restrained. Hubert had once branded Ashe’s face with the crest of Seiros and carved the word SPY into his cheek for his actions in the war. He joined their side, fought along side them for a year, and then showed he was a traitor serving the church. Objectively, Hubert understood Ashe was coerced by the church who held his sister hostage, but subjectively Hubert couldn’t unsee the bastard whose actions had led to the attack on Garreg Mach and the deaths of Randolph and Ladislava.

Hubert folded his arms, “You have some nerve.”

Ashe had a black eye, no doubt courtesy of a Ministry agent who had seen the ‘spy’ carved in his cheek and knew that’s how Hubert liked to mark enemy agents in the war.

“I was invited here,” protested Ashe.

“Yeah by Ferdinand, who has no concept of a grudge,” hissed Hubert. “You’re not staying in my house. You can go beg shelter from the Golden Deer camped out in my yard.”

Ashe nodded and trembled as he was passed back his bag. Hubert saw that he had the foresight to pack a sleeping bag, good, no bedding for him either. The agents followed him out of the barn and pushed him along to the old alliance tent town.

The last unexpected visitor was a wild looking man peacefully sharing a cup of tea with Agent Miasma. Felix had a dark blue beard that went all the way down to his chest. His hair was formed into dreadlocks that were tied in a unintentional looking knot atop his head. He scowled up at Hubert, “Got your message.”

“Which one?” Hubert stared down at him, he’d been trying to bring Agent Mire back into the fold for three damn years.

“All of ‘em,” said Felix as he sipped his tea. He still wore his wedding ring from Lysithea. His face was a little aged from too much time spent outside, and he was a lean, mean looking man. He looked like he hadn’t slept inside in years. His two swords at his back had seen plenty of action since he’d gone rogue in 1189.

“So are you back or just visiting?”

“Visiting for now, but Miasma here’s been telling me all about your Slither infestation,” said Felix. He glanced at one sword, “I think I might have to do an extended stay. Help clean up a bit.”

“Well, let’s just start with the reunion, you’ll never believe all the assholes that showed up,” sighed Hubert as his heart leapt at the idea of finally having Felix back and fighting by his side.

***

Children were put to bed and the class of 1180 gathered around the roaring fire pit with beverages of varying degrees of alcohol from none to way too much. Dorothea was taking it easy on the wine as she sat chatting with Petra and Mercedes, neither of whom were drinking. She was shocked at Felix’s appearance: he looked and smelled like he hadn’t washed in years. He still wore that near permanent frown, and looked tougher than ever as he talked with Sylvain who looked softer than ever. Ingrid, Annette and Ashe were sitting together chatting, while all the Golden Deers lead some chorus of a song they’d made up back in school for a mock battle. Byleth was cracking up between chugs of her beer as Caspar acted out some story about tackling a shady guy in the marketplace while Ferdinand blasted his hot headed actions. Bernadetta and Hubert were clearly quietly shit talking people from parliament to Linhardt who never much cared for politics.

Mercedes shifted a lot trying to find an agreeable sitting position. Dorothea looked at her trying to think of the most polite way to say she looked uncomfortable, “You must be excited to get this over with!”

“Yes, but worried,” said Mercedes as she settled into a new position. “Last time didn’t go well at all.”

“Oh, you’ve been pregnant before?” Dorothea felt a pang of sympathy towards Mercie as she put the words together.

Mercedes looked up at her with a little confused panic crossing her normally calm face, “Oh, uh, yes.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” whispered Dorothea.

Mercedes squeezed Dorothea’s hand, “Thank you, but it’s in the past. This is my future now.” She guided Dorothea’s hand to feel a rather forceful little kicker.

“Very energetic,” marveled Dorothea as she thought about what it might be like to be pregnant. She sipped her wine instead and tried not to think about it.

One by one the old classmates retired until only the hardest partiers remained: Caspar was completely plastered; Byleth seemed barely affected by 12 beers; Dorothea was definitely a bit more than buzzed; Hubert lay basically asleep but just awake enough to protest being called asleep; Hilda was loudly challenging Lorenz to an arm wrestling competition as he deftly refused; Sylvain was not quietly explaining that he and Ingrid had a bad habit of settling disagreements with sex, but they argued a lot, hence five kids. Claude looked barely drunk and highly amused by all these antics, and Felix still didn’t drink but was totally awake as he took it all in.

Hubert was snoring softly in her lap as Dorothea idly ran her fingers through his hair. It was amazing how their restraint around each other melted away with the injection of a little alcohol into the mix. Claude was smirking as he watched, “Is this a thing now?”

“It was, then it wasn’t, now it is again,” said Dorothea cryptically. Ingrid had opened a window and was yelling at Sylvain specifically to shut up as he started another round of some Faerghean folk song.

“Sorry babe,” called Sylvain drunkenly as Ingrid slammed the window.

That seemed to rouse Hubert as he sat up looking a little disoriented, “What time is it?”

“Way late for you,” teased Dorothea. “Where are we sleeping?”

Claude and Hilda were helping each other up to get back to their rooms and partners while Lorenz dusted himself off and announced it was time for bed. Felix was going to sleep in the garden. Byleth hauled Caspar up over one shoulder and announced they were going to go conquer the living room where Linhardt was presently passed out. Sylvain, perhaps wisely, also announced he would be taking a couch.

Once inside the house, Hubert grumbled about all the last minute RSVP changes as he tried to quietly dig through a linen closet. He produced pillows and blankets, and he and Dorothea landed in the empty sitting room.

“What are you doing?” asked Dorothea as she watched him rearranging chairs and draping a sheet over top them.

“Making a fort,” slurred Hubert. “Fort Arnault, the stubborn old general.”

“I’m not a stubborn old general,” she hissed as he continued to build them something more approaching a nest than a bed.

“Better than the impregnable fortress,” he said as he rearranged the soft pillow border he was creating.

“You’re drunk,” she whispered with a sneer. She was going to have to kick him in the balls if he ever called her an impregnable fortress again.

“Indeed,” said Hubert as he built up the fire a bit to keep them warm. “Edelgard and I once tried to make a small scale replica of Fort Merceus out of pillows. I think one of her brothers decided to conquer it and destroyed it. She was devastated.”

“And how did you avenge her?” asked Dorothea as she indiscreetly changed into her bed clothes.

Hubert was watching her with a hungry look in his eyes, “I wasn’t driven by revenge when I was seven. That came later.”

“And what are you driven by now?” asked Dorothea as she helped him undress.

Hubert was running his hands along her, “Devotion, to the cause, to Adrestia,” he paused. His whispers were heavy and clearly weighed down by all the wine, “To you.”

“In that order?” demanded Dorothea as she led him into their soft fortress for the night.

“I hope not,” murmured Hubert between kisses, “Though that is unfortunately my habit.”

“Aren’t you a little too drunk for this?” teased Dorothea as she felt his hips grinding upon her.

Hubert hummed in a soft agreement, “It’s your birthday, I’ll do whatever you want, including stopping, though I pray that you won’t tell me to do that.”

“You don’t pray,” said Dorothea as she felt his hands liberally exploring her body.

“I worship you,” said Hubert as his mouth started to do more than kiss as his face found its favorite spot, between her legs. Whatever devotions he was mouthing into her right now were very effective.

Dorothea was attempting to be quiet since she was pretty sure the friends in the nearby rooms couldn’t be asleep yet. Hubert seemed to have no such sensibility as he pulled up to be closer to her face, “What do you want from me now?”

“I want you to try out putting me before your duty, whatever that means,” whispered Dorothea.

Hubert’s pale green eyes seemed to glow in the dim firelight as he traced his fingers around the curve of her cheek. “And if I fail?”

“I hope you won’t,” Dorothea whispered as she guided him inside her. She didn’t know what failure would look like in this case. She didn’t know precisely what his duty was; Edelgard was dead but her hopes for Adrestia lived on. Dorothea had no idea how far Hubert would throw himself towards that cause. He’d never had that keen sense of self-preservation that kept Dorothea so safe. She wondered if that was something she could teach him, how to hold onto his own life without trying to give it away for the sake of some abstract concept.

He wasn’t abstract, he was real. He was flesh and blood and bone as he drunkenly tried to make this some special birthday sex for her. It was only special because it was the two of them, otherwise it was rather sloppy. Dorothea wondered if he could ever recognize that he was alive but would have to stay alive to have a life with her. She didn’t want him to fail in that, she wanted him with her always.

***

Poor Marianne only wanted a midnight snack, not yet another mistimed walk in on Dorothea and Hubert. When her classmates had aided her in laying poor Maurice to rest she truly thought her curse was lifted. Yet the goddess had merely bestowed a different kind of curse upon her. The two indiscreet lovers had at least gone to some effort to hide themselves but Marianne was uncomfortable with how well she knew those tangled up legs sticking out of what was clearly some sort of pillow and sheet sex nest. Yes, just like animals, decided Marianne, not maliciously but observantly, as she scampered off somewhere safe and quiet to enjoy her apple in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of sweet babies Ashe and Annette being the worst people ever from the Black Eagles' perspective


	14. Class of 1180 Reunion...part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present to you: dad bod Sylvain. Truly the darkest timeline.

Hubert was hungover as fuck. He stared in total confusion at what appeared to be a pillow fort and Dorothea curled up next to him. His recollections of the night got hazy after Felix’s return. He looked at Dorothea and spied a rather large hickey on her neck and grimaced. That was certainly his doing, but he had no memory of it.

It was early but Hubert could hear Ferdinand singing jollily from another room. Hubert pulled himself up to investigate. He was greeted with a mug of coffee and the sight of his kitchen full of pancakes courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. von Aegir.

“Hubert, you look terrible,” said Ferdinand cheerfully. “I hope you are ready for the lance tournament.”

“What lance tournament?” Hubert’s mouth was unpleasantly dry and foul tasting. He tried the coffee and that definitely made things worse.

Ferdinand pointed to a large bracket that had been drawn up and pinned on a wall. Hubert stared at it in confusion.

_9 am - Lances: Sylvain vs. Hubert; Leonie vs. Ingrid; Lorenz vs. Ferdinand; Byleth vs. Winner of Leonie vs. Ingrid._

_11 am - Gauntlets: Byleth vs. Caspar and Raphael vs. Felix;_

_1 pm - Bows - Ashe, Ignatz, Bernadetta, and Claude_

_3 pm - Axe Melee: Hilda vs. Caspar vs. Petra_

_5 pm - Black Magic: Annette and Dorothea_

“Why on earth am I on lances and not magic?” hissed Hubert.

“Well, you do dark magic not black magic,” said Ferdinand in a manner of fact way. “And both Marianne and Mercedes elected not to participate. So it was just easier to stick you on lances. You agreed to this last night.”

“I do not believe I did,” started Hubert. In what timeline would he ever possibly agree to such a thing?

“Well, you and Sylvain had a trash talking contest, there was a lot said, I don’t think you can just decline this match,” insisted Ferdinand.

“What on earth did I say?” Hubert definitely did not remember this at all.

“You kept calling him Jose Hornier,” started Ferdinand uncomfortably.

Hubert groaned, that had been Sylvain’s ridiculous Dungeons and Dragons character who was all charisma and no substance. Ferdinand continued, “And he kept calling you a vampire that slept with a pegasus doll.”

Hubert looked at the clock on the wall, it was already 8:15, damn, he was going to make a fool of himself. He worked at getting hydrated and ignoring the desire to throw up every time Bernadetta pushed a pancake in his face.

The sparring matches were to take place in a roped off area on the front lawn. Already pancakes were being served to the gathering alumni, thrown like discuses by mischievous children at their unsuspecting parents. Ferdinand had another nasty surprise, somehow that maniacal ass had gotten his hands on their old sport uniforms from Garreg Mach and was forcing everyone participating to wear them. Hubert wrestled his on remembering how much he absolutely hated this set of too short shorts. The shirt that had felt tight in 1180 was way too tight now that he had the most muscle mass of his life, which admittedly was still not much to brag about, and he could feel the seams whining at him as they threatened to rip. He looked ridiculous, but somehow, Sylvain was managing to look even worse.

Sylvain had looked like a fucking god in school with his muscles and his half open shirt. These days he was looking a little more mortal. No reasonable person could blame him. He was busy with parenting five kids and managing a massive northern territory including border relations with Sreng. He also enjoyed beer probably more than he should, Ingrid’s idea of a serving size was bigger than most, and Sylvain wasn’t a lunatic like Ferdinand who thought getting up at 4 am to work in some training was perfectly normal. His old sport uniform, the one that used to cling to the outline of his six pack, was now stretching over his keg.

“Maybe shirts off?” suggested Sylvain as he and Hubert exchanged looks while they hid behind the side of the house looking at all their old classmates gathering to watch them make utter fools of themselves. Somehow, Hubert doubted the lack of a shirt was going to help this situation but he had no range of movement at his shoulders so he agreed.

“I’m going to kill Ferdinand,” whispered Hubert in anger as he looked at the orange haired devil in the distance. He planned to inflict maximal pain.

“I’ll tell you what, the winner has to kick his ass as shared vengeance with the loser,” said Sylvain as the two of them stripped off their too tight shirts. Hubert did not think they were going to get that far in the bracket.

***

Dorothea was surprised when Felix joined her to watch as Hubie and Sylvain entered into the ring. Felix had showered and shaved, and almost looked presentable. His hair was cropped close to his head and he looked like a new person from the night before. His frown was the same as ever, “These two assholes are going to have a draw, I can feel it.”

Dorothea looked up at her old flame and her new one and had to agree. “Do you think they both need glasses?” The two former classmates were squinting at each other as they sized each other up. This was the saddest looking lance match Dorothea had ever witnessed.

“I think they both need shirts, there are children around,” sneered Felix as he watched all of Sylvain’s kids hooting and cheering on their dad.

Both men had their share of war time scars. They had each caught nasty breaks and had craggy cheese grater skin in spots. “I don’t know, it’s kind of hot,” teased Dorothea as she watched the two men unenthusiastically jabbing at each other with their lances. Sylvain was still incredibly handsome in his face even if he’d let himself go to seed in the abs department. Hubert had the opposite problem, his body looked better than ever, scars notwithstanding, but his face had always been a rather acquired taste. Yet just as Dorothea had succumb to his love of coffee she had also come to adore his scowling visage, “Go Hubie!”

Hubert and Sylvain were also clearly completely hungover as they engaged in an almost lifeless sparring match. Dorothea tried not to laugh at Ferdinand’s palpable disappointment at their poor performance. Byleth declared them both absolute losers and dropped herself from the match so there would only be the two other matches.

Ingrid put on a much better show than her husband despite only having one arm, yet Leonie thoroughly demolished her. Dorothea had never paid very much mind to Leonie in school, but she was greatly enjoying watching the two fit women bashing each other with sticks.

Next to her on the grass, Hubert was pulling at his shorts as if he could will them to cover more of his thighs. Dorothea jokingly stroked his leg, “I can basically see your dick through those.”

“I hated these uniforms,” hissed Hubert.

“Really, because I loved them,” laughed Dorothea as she recalled how she used to stare at the Blue Lion boys (and Ingrid) in their overly tight sport uniforms any time they were training.

They watched as Ferdinand entered the ring against Lorenz, who was not in bad shape. However, he was also not a crazy person like Ferdinand and hadn’t been wasting all his free time swinging a lance. The final match came down to the two red heads, Ferdinand and Leonie, both out for glory and maybe a little blood. Hubert cheered extra loudly as Leonie brutally knocked Ferdinand from the ring and was declared the winner of the lance tournament.

In the gauntlets tournament, Caspar stood no chance. He was barely awake as Byleth took him out. Felix had a better showing, but he was more adept with a sword and Raphael had some big ass fists. The professor went on to smoke Raphael like the meat he loved so much. As Byleth was declared winner she was shouting, “I taught you brats everything you know!”

There was a break for lunch, and then the festivities resumed with the bow tournament. It was based on points scored for hitting certain targets. Bernadetta grumbled that she had no reason to keep up with bows as a judge. Ashe was also not keeping up with his bow, he owned a restaurant with his siblings and was frankly much happier cooking than killing. Ignatz had finally stood up for his dreams and was painting way more than he was bow stringing. Claude actually still used his skills, since he and Petra loved hunting together, and he easily swept that competition. It also didn’t hurt that he’d brought his relic while everyone else was stuck with training bows.

Caspar, still wildly hungover at 3 pm, was also quickly out of the axe melee. Petra gave a good effort but in the end Hilda outclassed them both. She kissed one bicep as she raised the training axe she’d used to basically putt Petra from the ring as if the queen of Brigid were a mere golf ball.

Dorothea wished the black magic tournament was a straight up duel but it was similar to the bows tournament in that they had to hit targets instead of each other. Dorothea went with Agnea’s Arrow and delighted in the way Annette was furiously itching at her skin as she cast Cutting Gale. The poor ginger was so itchy her aim was off and Dorothea won in a best of five for her killer accuracy.

Dinner was a rowdy affair as people got up to share memories of each other from school. There was little talk of the war, as that was still a painful subject 10 years out from its end. Felix got up and said some words about Lysithea and how she died, which elicited a great deal of tears from the Golden Deer and Black Eagle alumni. Ingrid gave an impassioned speech for Dedue and Dimitri, which drew respectful nods but not nearly as many tears from the non-Blue Lions. Bernadetta got up and said some words for Seteth, who she’d felled in battle and still clearly felt sorry about. No one spoke of Rhea. Mercedes gave a beautiful update on the current state of Garreg Mach, now a four year liberal arts college focused on far more than weapons and magic, with new houses and a new legacy to build. Linhardt shared his memories of working with Hanneman, who was now super retired.

Dorothea took her chance to speak on Manuela, “I know that Manuela wasn’t my professor, but I knew her long before coming to Garreg Mach. She used to be known as the Divine Songstress, and she was a goddess on the stage with her voice and her sword.” Dorothea tried not to break down in tears as she continued, “My mom died when I was young, and my father wasn’t a good person at all, but when I was thirteen Manuela looked out for me. She stepped in and was kind of like my fairy godmother, because that was the kind of person she was. She really loved her students. She might have been a mess, but no one could say she wasn’t watching out for us all while we were at Garreg Mach.” Dorothea dried her eyes, “And I hate that she had to die in some no-name border battle. She was with her Golden Deer students at the end, and I hope she felt right about that, although I will always feel wrong about it.” The alumni broke into an impromptu choir sing-along in honor of Manuela that brought even more tears to Dorothea’s eyes.

***

From her vantage point on the stage, Hubert’s private box was hardly big enough to contain even half of the reunion. Luckily actual rows of seats in the front had been acquired. Everyone was decked out in formal wear and Dorothea delighted in their attention and their facial expressions as they watched the horribly inaccurate opera she was a part of. Her performance as Edelgard was great, no one could argue that, but almost no one else had gotten such good treatment.

Caspar, who lacked the ability to whisper, was loudly narrating all the problems to Byleth, who was voicing her agreement. Linhardt was ineffectively trying to hush them both. Mercedes looked pissed as her character and the death knight died dramatically to cheers from the audience. The alliance fighters were not impressed by their almost total lack of inclusion. Hilda was in the play, but was played by a burly man in a pink wig. Petra liked her portrayal until that actress opened her mouth. Annette was grumbling that she wasn’t a villain even though her character was portrayed as the evil scheming mage adviser archetype to Dimtri, whispering in the prince’s ear to ‘ _kill them all_ ’.

After the show Dorothea’s director was literally hiding from the angry mob of well dressed war veterans demanding blood in the lobby of the opera house. Dorothea had to laugh in a beautiful ‘ _I told you so_ ’ moment. She almost wished a riot would break out but luckily for the Mittelfrank the only thing broken was her classmates’ respect for the fact checkers at the opera.

In the end, the reunion was heralded as a roaring success and everyone but Hubert agreed they were coming back to the Vestra estate in 1200 for the twenty year reunion.

***

“I cannot tell you how glad I am that’s over,” sighed Hubert as they laid in bed back in the Enbarr apartment after the reunion was done and life was getting back to normal. He had sworn off alcohol for the next month at least and Dorothea was inclined to do the same.

“It was fun though, seeing everyone,” said Dorothea fondly as she thought about how people had changed and the ways in which they were still exactly the same. “Sylvain looked, well—” Her voice trailed off as she mentally mourned the loss of those fabulous abs.

“Normal is the word I think you may be searching for,” teased Hubert. “Most people peak in their early twenties looks wise. I mean look at Ferdinand’s hairline.”

“You look better,” challenged Dorothea.

“Yeah, well, when you look as pathetic as I did at Garreg Mach it’s hard not to improve,” said Hubert disdainfully. “I hated how I looked.”

“Ignatz looked great,” said Dorothea and Hubert chuckled because it was true that he did look much more handsome than the high pitched voice twerp they had taken classes with.

“Felix looked better after he cleaned up,” said Hubert. Dorothea definitely agreed with that.

“Ingrid and Leonie both looked good,” mused Dorothea. “I can’t believe Mercedes is having a baby with Lin and Caspar though.”

“Likewise,” said Hubert dryly.

Dorothea was quiet as she thought about the other aspects of the week, “Do you remember what we talked about when we were having sex in the pillow fort—”

Hubert made a quiet disbelieving sound, “We had sex in a pillow fort? Was I drunk?”

“Yeah,” said Dorothea slowly.

“Was it any good?” He sounded like he really didn’t want to know the answer.

“Eh,” Dorothea made a face because it hadn’t been the best. “Neither of us finished, so.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Hubert as he found her hand in the covers and gave it a squeeze. “Clearly no, I do not recall anything we spoke about.”

“Oh,” said Dorothea softly. “I asked you if you would put me ahead of your duties to the Empire.”

Hubert was silent for an uncomfortably long time, “I have a bad track record when it comes to elevating the interests of one person over the needs of many.”

“Not with Edelgard,” whispered Dorothea.

She could hear Hubert making a sound in his throat. “That was different.”

“Can you explain it to me, because I’m not seeing it,”

Hubert had rolled onto his side to look at Dorothea. He traced small circles along her skin with the tip of his finger, “Serving the imperial family, and by extension the empire, was drilled into my head from the time I was old enough to read and write. It’s not as if I was given a choice, I can barely recall a time before I served Adrestia.”

“What’s your earliest memory?” asked Dorothea. She knew hers was her mother singing to her when she was very small.

Hubert shuddered, “It doesn’t matter what my earliest memory is.” His fingers had retreated away from her skin.

“Of course it does—”

“It was me asking my father what a mother was, because it was a word I didn’t recognize,” snapped Hubert. “And he explained that I didn’t get to have one like other children because I’d killed mine. That’s my earliest memory.”

“Oh,” whispered Dorothea as he rolled to face the other direction. “I had a similar experience.” He was silent so she continued, “A woman, a well dressed noble woman, called me a filthy bastard when I was with my mother on the street. And my mom explained that I was considered a bastard because she wasn’t married to my father, because that other lady was.”

“That was cruel of her,” murmured Hubert. “The noble woman I mean.”

“Your father was cruel too,” said Dorothea as she scratched gently at his back.

Hubert sighed, “You know I can’t really feel what you’re doing. I know I used to like it when you scratched my back, but all I can really sense is pressure over the scarring.” It was a tough reminder that he so willingly sacrificed his body towards his work.

He rolled back to face her, “My father was cruel, not all the time, but he had a great capacity for it. It runs in our blood.”

“That’s not true,” whispered Dorothea.

Hubert looked at her sadly, “There’s about a thousand years worth of shitty Vestras doing terrible things, a tradition I shamefully carry on.” He shut his eyes and exhaled softly, “Which is why my house will die with me.”

“I don’t understand,” started Dorothea.

“I think you do,” said Hubert as his eyes opened up to look at her in the dim lighting.

Dorothea found her throat was a little tight. Dorothea didn’t want to be too demanding but she did want things, and this stupid reunion had rekindled desires that she thought she was comfortable letting die. It turned out she wasn’t as immune as she wanted to be to the things she didn’t have. “Could anyone sway your mind on that?”

“I love you, but, I don’t want you to be Dorothea von Vestra. It’s a poisoned name for poisoned people,” said Hubert harshly.

“So is this just it then? We keep doing what we’re doing, too afraid to call it anything more? Too afraid to move forward?” asked Dorothea.

“What does fear have to do with anything?” asked Hubert defensively. “I’m not afraid to marry you, I just don’t want to.”

The words seemed to open up a chasm between them.

“Oh,” said Dorothea quietly as the world collapsed around her.

“Don’t be like that,” he hissed. “You know what I meant. I’m content with this as it is. Why does it have to change?”

“Change, Hubert, I’m just asking for a little security, can you blame me?” He knew so well what her life was like, of course she needed something more than love. She needed assurances.

“Who do you really think I’m going to leave you for? It's _me_ , no one else wants me,” he said in exasperation.

“Your duty maybe?”

He was silent. Hubert cleared his throat, “You’re right you know. And I’m sorry that you think marriage and children will change that because I’ve been there, and I can tell you it won’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

Hubert sat up and turned on the lights. Dorothea almost wished he hadn’t. His eyes were wet, which was shocking because she really only had observed him crying when he had been in deep physical pain during the war. Hubert didn’t cry unless he was extremely bothered. He drew in a sharp breath, “Mercedes and I were expecting a baby. And it was maybe the most exciting thing I think I’ve ever experienced.” Hubert closed his eyes. His words dripped with acid, “I dreamed about all the things that we were going to do when she, our daughter, was born. I wanted to take her to the zoo, teach her to read, how to play chess, and maybe someday she’d even get to go to Garreg Mach.” His eyes opened, rimmed with red, “And she was born, about three months too early, too small to live, too badly injured by the constant dark magic all around her in Shambhala to survive the utterly terrible shit Mercedes and I did to destroy that place.”

Hubert swallowed and his eyes looked distant as if he was seeing something far in the past, “We had to leave her there, and she didn’t get a grave, she just got nothing because we didn’t keep her safe.” He rubbed at his face and looked passively at Dorothea. “I am incapable of putting the people I love ahead of my duty. I did it to you, I did it to Petra, I did it to Mercedes, and worst of all I did it to my poor daughter. I will always throw myself at my duty first because that obligation was ingrained in me from childhood. I can’t break out of that no matter what I try or what the stakes are. I have tried to change it, but I am stuck like this, because I am a Vestra and this is what we are.”

Dorothea found that her fist was pressed against her mouth and she was shaking as she realized Hubert wasn’t finished. “I killed my father, I killed my daughter, and hell, I tried killing myself. I tried to get rid of three generations of Vestras and close the door on my miserable house for good.”

“Hubert,” whispered Dorothea, as she wished he would stop this terrible rant.

“There are certain things I can’t give you,” said Hubert with an uncomfortable swallow. “So, my advice is go find someone who can if what we have isn’t enough for you.”

Dorothea squeezed her eyes shut in disbelief. This wasn’t a nightmare, though it felt like one. This was just another relationship coming to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, oh no, did you think this was going to be a smooth ride? *eye brow wiggling intensifies*


	15. Co-workers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea finally gets to be an independent spy, too bad she was hoping for a specific partner.

Hubert did what Hubert did best and buried himself under a big pile of work. He was not around as Dorothea quietly packed up her possessions and spitefully stole all of the soap that he’d purchased for her anyway. She could keep it, he didn’t take bubble baths and he didn’t want to smell anything that reminded him of her. She crashed at the von Aegirs for a few days as she sorted out moving and renting out a studio apartment. Hubert resisted the urge to look up the crime statistics for the neighborhood she landed in. She was good at looking out for herself, she didn’t need him spying on her safety.

Hubert let himself get nice and busy. So busy he had to pause his chess games with Florence. There was no dinner with the von Aegirs, no tea times, and no running into anyone at Parliament. He slept most nights at the central headquarters of his Ministry while Fritz kept bringing him fresh clothes. He ignored his poor assistant’s pleas that he go home for the weekend. He didn’t go to the opera and he didn’t care if the box was empty as Dorothea performed.

One agent boldly suggested that Hubert needed to subsist on more than coffee, and Lord Vestra sent him on assignment to Dagda. After that, no one tried to get Hubert to try self-care because everyone knew he was itching to post someone in Sreng. Felix, newly reinstated as an agent, was the only one to call out his boss’ bullshit, “You’re a real miserable bastard.”

“So are you,” challenged Lord Vestra.

Felix rolled his eyes, “You broke up with her, you jerk.”

Lord Vestra kicked Felix out of his office and locked the door so he could do paperwork instead of feeling anything.

***

Dorothea canceled meetings with her submissive clients. For some of them, this was too much humiliation and they continued to pay her as if this was part of her services. She sighed and kept the money although it was all because she didn’t want to be around anyone.

She reported to work at the Ministry of Whispers and prepped for her upcoming exams so that she could stop being a rookie and start being an agent. She had to be able to run two miles though an urban course featuring fenced alleyways and a horrible fire escape climb in fifteen minutes. She had to be able to hoist up the weight of an average sized agent and walk them to safe cover. She had to be able to read something and two hours later make a copy of it. She was good with her sword but she had to be better with knives. There was a lot to keep busy with and Dorothea threw herself into studying to ignore her pain.

The office chatter around the coffee and tea pots suggested the boss of everyone’s boss was being a huge dick at the moment. Apparently surprise performance reviews were being handed down from on high. Dorothea kept her head down and trained harder so that there was no reasonable grounds to fire her.

She counted down her performances at the Mittelfrank. Ten more shows until closing, five fucking weeks, and it couldn’t come soon enough. She was a little unfair in how mean she was to the actor that played Hubert on stage, but Dorothea was feeling bitchy not apologetic. She used to think it was great to have an opera that was playing for a full season but this was turning into a personal hell reliving the war two nights a week. They closed in the coldest parts of winter to avoid having to heat the place. Typical cheap ass Mittelfrank.

Spying paid better than the opera, and part of her upcoming assignment was to land a role in a smaller theater anyway. Her supervisor at the Ministry wanted her in a venue that was a little more intimate, a black box theater, in a short run of a play known to be about dark themes. She was to start making connections with the more fringe aspects of entertainment in Enbarr. She already had plenty of connections in clubs, but there were many other aspects of Enbarr’s night life to be explored and exploited. This was one of Dorothea’s strengths, and the Ministry was happy to send her out on the town.

Apparently all of this required a ton of paperwork. Dorothea was at her desk late on a Tuesday as she filled out the countless forms and reports required for each and every little thing. She was permitted to decorate her desk so she had brought in her picture of Manuela and a little potted plant Bernadetta had promised would be okay without too much sun. On her calendar she was ticking down performances, six to go.

“Arnault, earrings,” reminded her supervisor in passing. Dorothea quietly removed her big flashy dress code violating earrings. The office dress standards were extremely boring: flat shoes that one could run in, slacks, suspenders or a belt so said slacks weren’t in danger of drooping, and a white button up. Dorothea had splurged on a well tailored one so it wouldn’t gape at her breasts. That was the most annoying feature of button up shirts, which was why she never wore them, but she had to admit that with the proper darting she looked pretty smart. She was also trying out a little vest and pocket watch, and a matching jacket now and then. Dorothea considered herself hyper feminine, but she was having fun experimenting with the slightly more butch clothing. Lots of women hit on her if she went out after work at the office, and men ignored her. It was awesome. Her hair was pulled back into a boring bun but at least there was no dress code rule on make-up, so Dorothea always wore bright red lipstick and way too much eyeliner to compensate for the lack of personality in the rest of her look.

A couple of other agents were waiting around at their desks seemingly doing nothing but shooting the shit. One of them was napping, the other two were sharing a coffee break. “Why are you guys still here?” asked Dorothea out of curiosity. This was probably above her clearance, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Oh, there’s a big sting happening, overseen by Central and South, we’re just on stand by in case things go sideways,” sighed one of the yawning coffee break agents. He looked sympathetically at all her paperwork, “Don’t worry, you’ll get quicker with filling out those forms over time. It just takes practice.”

Dorothea smiled and tucked her pencil behind her ear, “I just finished, finally.” She drug her chair over to them and invited herself to the coffee break because she had nothing going on tonight and sincerely wanted to know her co-workers. They were normal people outside work with partners, kids, and pets. They knew her spy handle, Luna, from the war, not her last name from the stage, and that was a nice change of pace.

Dorothea still loved tea, that wasn’t changing any time soon, but Hubert’s constant coffee making at all hours had rubbed off on her. She was certain he was no longer affected by caffeine with the way he was always drinking it and still passing out before midnight. While drinking too much made her jittery, she had started to appreciate the complexities of what she had used to refer to as bitter dirt water. The ministry, even this quiet branch location, was always stocked with the best coffee in town. Dorothea risked not being able to fall asleep tonight by partaking in a mug. She was learning a lot about the Ministry from this idle office chatter.

Minister Vestra gossip was hot right now, apparently the dreaded performance reviews were done by Hubert himself in an uncomfortable one on one meeting no one enjoyed. Everyone was on edge as their turn at the central office ticked closer. No one knew what had snapped, but the rumor was something bad had gone down in Vestra’s personal life, and now he was doing what he did best: make everyone as miserable as he was. Dorothea did not want to be identified as the cause of this workplace pain. She drained her coffee to hide her face from any scrutiny.

Despite the major pain in the ass Hubert was, it was clear he was well liked by his employees. They could forgive him the occasional assholery because he ran a tight ship and that meant safety. Her co-worker, a long timer who went by the handle Nosferatu, poured them all another round of coffee, “You know him from the war, right?”

Dorothea nodded and decided it was best to not elaborate. She didn’t want anyone to think that the only reason she’d been recruited was because she’d been fucking the boss. That was probably the truth of it unfortunately. She wondered how long she could hide something like that from a bunch of spies.

“Well, in the war, Vestra basically invented modern spycraft. He wasn’t always right about things, but 9 times out of 10, his strategies worked better than the archaic stunts the church was pulling. But when Hanneman took over, he re-centralized things.”

“Why is that bad?” This was definitely not covered in her textbooks. She hoped there wasn’t going to be a history portion on her test because this wasn’t exactly something one could just look up at the library.

Nos sighed, “Bad isn’t the right word. Hanneman was a good director, but there was too much exposure of information within the agency. Everyone knew what was going on, which was great for coordination but also great for leaks. We were a little more efficient, but it came at a high price. We became vulnerable to attack.” Nos practically chugged his coffee. Dorothea enjoyed the beverage, but not enough to drink it like that. “Vestra treats the organization like a body. You get an arm to do arm things, the legs to do leg things, the brain to think, et cetera. And if something gets compromised, well you just lop it off. Vestra isn’t sentimental, he’s not nostalgic. He’d honestly probably cut off his own foot if it was getting in his way.”

Dorothea winced and hoped that was a metaphor. “So what, Central is the brains of the operation?”

“No, it’s the heart,” said Nos. “The brains are definitely North branch. Let’s see, South is the muscle, those idiots do heavy lifting and fighting. Don’t pick a fight with anyone from South branch, you’ll end up in the river. East branch is the ears and the eyes, they all work around the city, especially Parliament, it’s waiters, cashiers, street lamp lighters. People you don’t notice because they’re just in the background.”

“And what’s the west branch?”

“Oh we’re the mouth, for sure,” chimed in the other agent in the conversation, Bolganone-9, or Bo. They had gone through so many agents these days they’d started tacking on numbers to the tomes. Bo was a good looking guy who Dorothea vaguely recognized from the Enbarr social scene. Someone familiar enough, but not too memorable on the street in the day, a great asset as a spy. “We chat people up, we’re the talkers. I heard East Branch is like, silent all day, just quills scratching. West branch is so loud, when everyone’s here of course, they had to stick us on the outskirts of town. We throw the best holiday party too, no contest.”

Perhaps that was exactly why she was assigned here. She had thought Hubert wanted to keep her away from the action, but maybe he was just putting her where she was strongest. “Who throws the worst party?” asked Dorothea, although she was always down for a party, good or bad.

“North for sure,” sighed Nos. “To be fair they’re more or less an archive. They don’t have many employees, and those agents are the most boring.”

“Central gets Adrestia day, because they give out the paychecks so, look forward to a holiday bonus next year, that’s always our gift. South does New Years, with lots of liquor and everything fun we’ve confiscated over the last year if you catch my drift. Don’t try to out drink or out smoke anyone at South, you’ll die. West, well, we get the Emperor’s birthday in Garland Moon, and it is a sweet time because we do themed costume parties,” bragged Bo. “East, they do Veteran’s day, and North, uh, North does Arbor Day.”

“Arbor Day,” clarified Dorothea in disbelief. The banks weren’t even closed for Arbor Day.

“Yeah, little known fact about Minister Vestra, he loves trees and being outside,” groaned Bo dryly. “So we celebrate Arbor Day and get assigned to basically case out the nearest parks and identify what improvements could be made.” Bo poured himself more coffee as he rolled his eyes, “Some correlation between nice places and low crime I think. Anyway, that party’s always super lame and we get packets of seeds for flowers or whatever.”

“Yeah the heirloom tomato seeds always get snapped up first,” said Nos bitterly. Dorothea suspected he was already scheming in advance of the next Arbor Day for how he was going to pimp out his garden.

“It’ll be interesting to see what happens when Vestra finally retires,” said Bo languidly. “Hopefully no more Arbor Day parties.”

“Retire? He’s going to die on the job,” said Nos knowingly.

“Please don’t say that,” whispered Dorothea with discomfort.

Nos sighed, “I’m not trying to be malicious, it’s the truth. He did retire, in ‘89, he was gone for 5 years. Retirement was not good for him. He’s always lived with one foot in the grave, and rumor is he tried dipping the other foot in.” Nos looked at his empty coffee mug and tapped it on the table, “Having this job is all that’s keeping that guy alive. Maybe that and rage.”

Dorothea finished her own mug, “Well I’d hate to hear what you have to say about someone you don’t like.” She had drank way too much coffee and she was feeling ill.

Nos was about to defend himself when there was chaos climbing the stairs to their quiet secluded office. Dorothea’s supervisor came running from her office and started yelling about triage. Dorothea grabbed the little medic kit she’d been given because she knew white magic and stood at attention for her orders.

The bust had clearly gone less than according to plan. Apparently the shipment of dark seals they’d had intel on arrived. Unfortunately the seals were already in dark mages. This wasn’t a shipment of 20 new seals, this was 20 Slithers being actively smuggled into South Enbarr. An ‘oh shit’ full on brawl had broken out. The Slithers had an undeniable advantage in sheer numbers, and now the injured agents were retreating to the West branch in crisis because it could be more easily moved if the location was compromised.

Dorothea had seen a lot of shit in the war. This was unfortunately similar as she watched injured assassins and regular black magic using mages coming in with clear dark magic wounds. Ten well trained people from the Ministry had seemed adequate for a little crate of dark seals; ten people were not enough for 20 Slithers. Two agents were confirmed dead at the scene. Three were not looking too hot right now as three others brought them in. Apparently the remaining two had stayed behind in an attempt to recover the bodies of the fallen agents.

Dorothea focused on her work and not the bile creeping up her throat. This was the dangerous stuff. This was the stuff way beyond her training. She felt silly and frivolous going on dates with boring politicians while her co-workers were literally being killed in broad daylight. Dorothea shouldn’t have had so much coffee because her hands were violently shaking as she tried to work.

A familiar hand found her shoulder as she finished healing up the woman she’d been working on. Dorothea looked up with relief at Felix.

“Hey,” she managed weakly. She was elated to see him alive. She wondered if Hubert had been on the mission. He’d been talking about a sting operation, but he wasn’t here and that didn’t feel promising.

Felix looked down at the person she’d just been healing with his ever present serious face and gave her a nod, “Good work. I’m next.”

Felix was patient as he let Dorothea check out the burned open flesh of his neck. It was gross and this was a Linhardt level heal job, but he wasn’t here, so Dorothea did her best. She’d been practicing a lot for her exams and it was paying off. The rest she had to finish with stitches but Felix said he didn’t mind.

“You probably like a good scar,” joked Dorothea softly as she watched his eyes wince as she worked.

“I don’t dislike them,” said Felix noncommittally. He was spinning his wedding ring around on his finger absently.

“I miss Lys,” whispered Dorothea as she watched him spinning his ring.

That got a brief twitch of a smile out of Felix but he didn’t say anything.

Dorothea’s hands were still shaking as she held her tea cup full of calming chamomile as she and Felix watched her supervisor overseeing the two dead agents being brought in. Hubert was one of the people who had stayed behind to recover the two bodies. He was staring at the corpses now as Dorothea’s supervisor filled him in on the status of the injured. Dorothea noted how Hubert’s hands were curled up within his gloves; he’d been overcasting as usual and from the looks of it he’d really gone overboard.

“Let Arnault heal your hands at least,” suggested Dorothea’s supervisor. Hubert and Dorothea briefly made eye contact, and because they were undercover — not as spies, but as ex lovers — so they complied with suggestion to turn as few suspicious heads as possible. She carefully helped to remove his jacket and threw it on her desk so that she could get a better look at his arms.

Dorothea pursed her lips as she gently worked on him. He grimaced but didn’t make a sound even though she knew this had to be very painful, perhaps in more ways than one. The muscles up to his elbows were all contracted in a spasm, and his hands were fighting wanting to simultaneously contract and extend. It looked as if the flexors were winning as his fingers twisted up. Dorothea had only cast enough to get to this point once in her life, and she never wanted to again. This was going to ache for days if not weeks. She worked on the muscles first so that his hands would unclench.

She tried not to gasp as she finally pulled off the first glove because she found it full of blood. Cotton gloves would have burned away under such conditions, but the leather was tougher, and Hubert’s hands had caught the brunt of the damage. His nail beds were bleeding, and the skin was covered in blisters. Some had already broken. It would heal, but right now it was stomach turning. She closed her eyes as she tried to magically speed things along for him. He wasn’t going to be doing much with those hands for a while.

She massaged the hand as she healed it. Rough and worn, Hubert’s hands had always been ugly to say the least. And yet, when they used to hold her they had somehow been beautiful. Dorothea finished up the hand and was surprised by the gentle squeeze it returned to her. It said a lot with no words at all in the briefest of moments. Then the next hand needed fixing and Dorothea continued with her work.

“Hubert, why didn’t you remove your gloves?” she asked quietly. It wouldn’t have spared his hands this damage, but it might not have been as bad.

Hubert’s eyes had been shut for a long time, “There wasn’t time. Everything happened too fast.” He paused and sounded apologetic, “And it’s Minister Vestra at work.” That stung much more than he likely intended, and Dorothea bit back any other questions she had.

As people cleared out to deal with the aftermath, Dorothea was commended for her healing by her supervisor and sent home. She cleaned up her desk and noticed Hubert’s jacket was still there. He was long gone and Dorothea didn’t know what to do with it. She could probably give it to her supervisor, but it seemed like a task too small to trouble the woman with in light of all that was happening. She could probably leave it at his apartment with his doorman, she had to go that way anyway to get to the opera. So Dorothea took Hubert’s jacket home with her.

Her apartment was tiny. The opposite bathroom walls could easily be touched without even expanding her arms fully. There was no tub, only a small cramped shower and a toilet that was so close to the corner that Dorothea sometimes bumped her knees into the wall just trying to sit. But there was plumbing, electric, and gas so she could attempt to cook up dinner. She could make an omelet, sort of, but without Hubert over her shoulder telling her what to do it ended up as scrambled eggs. It was still good, although she thought she should probably learn to make a real dinner since she was constantly eating ‘breakfast’ food at all times of day.

Dorothea sat in her robe after her shower and stared out at the window she still hadn’t made a curtain for as she ate her scrambled eggs on her mattress. She looked at Hubert’s jacket hanging on the coat rack she’d installed (crooked, oops) and got up. She smelled it and trembled: sulfur from casting dark magic, coffee from a stain where he’d spilled his drink on himself, crusty blood near the cuffs, and a musky smell of sweat near the armpits. Not a comforting assortment of smells to anyone but her. She curled up in the jacket as if it was him holding her and fell asleep.

She got home the next day to flowers on her doorstep. An assortment of foxglove in a rather ugly vase, _Thanks for the healing, -H_. It wasn’t his handwriting, and she’d be shocked if he could hold a pen right now. A toxic flower in an hideous pot, typical Hubert. Dorothea pulled out her textbook on plants she was supposed to be studying from and looked up the species. Apparently these plants liked acidic soil and shade, she sighed, Hubert personified as a flower. She wondered what flower she was. She used to think she was a rose until the war had knocked off all her petals and left only thorns. Maybe these days she was more of a thistle and prickly all the way through.

She looked at the crumpled jacket on her mattress and knew she had to return it but that could wait for Friday’s performance when she had a real excuse to be in that part of town. She didn’t want to go out of her way to run into him.

Dorothea hated arrogant nobles. Hubert von Vestra was born heir to one of the most deceptively powerful houses in Adrestia: Vestra, the darkest and dirtiest of the blue bloods. He was arrogant, but not in the simple gilded, pompous way that the typical noble suffered from. Hubert was arrogant in a stripped down and sacrificial sort of way. Vanity wasn’t at the route of it, Hubert hated himself, no, his issue was his total inability to share: his mind, his feelings, his burdens.

He had driven Edelgard up the wall during the war with the way he’d go behind her back to take care of problems his way without bothering to ask her opinion or permission. Hubert didn’t consult on strategies once he’d picked one. He had too many successes to learn how to question his gut, and his hubris had caused shit to blow up in his face on more than one occasion.

Hubert had decided that he was better off alone than trying to work through this with her. Once he decided on a course there was no way for him to change his path. That insane self-assurance that there was no other way than the one he’d thought up was his uncompromising arrogance. Their relationship had a problem he didn’t know how to fix, but rather than ask for her help solving it, he’d ended it instead. By his own admission he was never going to change, and Dorothea wished he’d just grow a little ego and consider himself as a person for a change instead of just a weapon. Weapons were fated to kill things, but people had a choice. Dorothea had discovered the hard way that playing with knives was a good way to get sliced open. This breakup still had her feeling raw. There were no healing spells for a broken heart.

She also keenly hated herself. She hated herself more than usual as she wrapped herself up in Hubert’s jacket and imagined giving it back to him in his office. She had never seen it, but she imagined the room was very large and dark with a big wooden desk. She hated her fantasy of him pushing her onto his desk with his gnarled, gloveless hands and hiking up her dress code violating skirt as he undid his pants. She imagined inkwells spilling and pens rolling to the floor as he thrust into her on the desk over and over. She hated herself for practically hearing his voice in her ear saying something dumb like, “You passed your annual performance review, here’s your holiday bonus” as he came inside her, while she was getting herself off for real with her fingers. She hated herself for having a good ugly cry after she orgasmed.

***

Hubert was surprised when his doorman gave him the jacket he’d worn to the disastrous sting operation. It was soiled and in sore shape, and he had no recollection of taking it off or where he might have left it. He had discounted it as gone and had already ordered a replacement from his tailor. A card fell out of the pocket, one from the flowers he’d sent Dorothea as a lame way of thanking her after he forgot to verbally at the time. He’d been in a daze at the West branch. Much of that day was a dark blur of sulfur and screaming.

 _ ~~Thanks for the healing -H~~_ ; below it: _It’s my job. -Dorothea (it’s ARNAULT at work)_. Still the stone cold bitch he loved so much. He hesitantly smelled the jacket and found her in it as a hint of lavender soap, a couple of long brown hairs and just a smudge of too red lipstick. Their smells were all mixed up together. Hubert swallowed uneasily and put the jacket in his laundry for the maid to take away. He wondered if he just ought to throw it in the fire place instead. That would be cathartic, but wasteful.

He ended up at the opera of all places that night. He’d missed the first act, and he sat in the shadowiest part of the empty box. He cursed to himself as he saw Dorothea staring at his box as she sang and wondered if he was visible to her. He used to be so good at hiding himself but now he felt exposed. He should have never come. She shouldn’t see him like this, he couldn’t even hold a razor to shave.

He waited for the place to mostly clear out before slipping away. As he got out of the theater he saw Dorothea, clearly dressed for a night out, on the arm of someone else. Good, his brain whispered to drown out his heart which was screaming incomprehensible nonsense as he walked in the opposite direction.

Paperwork rolled across his desk in a monotonous stream. He was slowed as he held his pen painfully and tried to write. He settled on a lot of check marks instead of comments.

He went on a stake out with Felix to kill another Saturday night, and neither of them spoke. Felix was not the partner he wanted but the one he worked best with. Two miserable lonely bastards that worked well without words, they were perfect for each other. Felix was still crashing in one of the safe house apartments in Hubert’s building and making no moves to leave and Hubert didn’t really care enough to kick him out. They hung out in silence sometimes during the evenings because they were both loners who didn’t particularly like being alone.

New agent exam scores were in and Hubert approved them. Badges to successful recruits would be issued in a ceremony next week. Four new agents from a class of ten, Hubert only wanted the best. Hubert paused at Dorothea’s test scores: not perfect but nearly. She was always good at working towards a goal, whether it was becoming the star of the opera, becoming the one commoner accepted into the Black Eagle’s officer academy, or becoming a powerful gremory during the war. He approved the honors her supervisor had granted her scores and shuffled to the next set of results.

“Congratulations, welcome to the Ministry of Whispers,” said Hubert emptily as he pinned on the little eye shaped lapel pins to each new agent. Three men and Dorothea. Hubert mused that he really needed to start emphasizing that they needed more women in the Ministry to get the sex ratio a little more even. Their demographics needed to reflect the world around them so that they could get access to more places. They needed lady agents at respectable tea houses, and the not respectable ones, not just listless men like Hubert unenthusiastically visiting strip clubs and wishing it was Lady Thorn up on the stage.

There was a little reception with drinks and snacks following the pinning ceremony to help sell the idea that co-workers should become friends. Friends typically worked harder to protect friends than uninspired co-workers, and this was a dangerous job. It also made moles easier to pick out because they tended to keep to themselves, at the least the bad ones. Bad moles were easy to spot, good moles were impossible to see until they were stabbing you in the back. Hubert spent a lot of time whacking moles.

Dorothea toasted him with her mug filled with wine. “I guess you’re my boss for real now,” she muttered.

Hubert stared down at his coffee, he didn’t like to drink on the job, and sighed, “You and a hundred other people, give or take a dozen.” Unfortunately she was the only employee he wanted to apologize to and sweep into a kiss in front of everyone, and then wanted to sneak off to a stairwell with. Hubert drank his beverage and willed his mind to be less vivid in it’s little reverie. He was super glad she wasn’t up for a performance review because he panicked at what he would do if he was alone with her in his office. Probably cry.

“The show’s closing soon,” she said. He hoped this wasn’t an attempt at small talk. He didn’t want to do small talk, medium talk, or big talk. He wanted to camouflage himself into the wallpaper and disappear.

“Only four more performances,” said Dorothea continuing to carry the conversation. “Are you coming to the party?”

Hubert had lost his RSVP card. “No.” Dorothea nodded and went off to talk to some of her new co-workers. Hubert slid away and ended up doing some deep breathing exercises in a stairwell in an attempt to not totally lose his composure.

Bernadetta eventually hatched a scheme to ambush him and take him out to lunch against his will. “You’re growing a beard?”

“I can’t shave, not without slicing my face.” Hubert sighed and held up a gloved hand, beneath the leather things were looking less than presentable, “I really screwed myself up.”

“Yeah I’ll say,” grumbled Bernadetta as she ordered something easy to handle for them. “What the hell happened?”

“I told her the truth, all of it,” whispered Hubert as he tried to will away his memories of the awful night. “I-I told her I didn’t want to marry her.”

Bernadetta screwed up her face, “What do you want then? Because from how you’re acting, it’s no secret you’re absolutely miserable.”

Hubert didn’t know what to tell her. He just wanted things to be the same. He didn’t want to think about how the last time he attempted to make love to Dorothea he was black out drunk. He didn’t want to think about her face as he she listened to him ranting in a completely mismanaged reveal of his darkest secrets. He didn’t want to tell her about Mercedes and their daughter and how she died in the way that he did. He wanted a do-over, but that hadn’t been possible since Sothis snapped out of Byleth and gave the middle finger to Fodlan.

Leaving Dorothea the first time had been like using poison to kill: dose it and walk away, easy. Being dumped by Petra was tougher, that was like a stab in the carotid, real painful but quick. His relationship with Mercedes had been like getting run over by a cart, getting taken to the doctor and repaired, only to be told you had late stage cancer: intense but non-lethal injuries followed up with a slow quiet incurable death. This, this was like falling from a pegasus way up in the sky. Enough time to have the entire relationship flash before his eyes before splattering into a thousand pieces on the ground with no chances of being put back together.

Bernadetta began to interrogate him, “Do you want to be with anyone else?”

Hubert shook his head. “No, I love her.”

“Is it a money thing? Are you insecure that she’s just with you for—”

Hubert cut her off, “No, I don’t think that. I know that’s not true. I just don’t want to hurt her.”

“It’s a little late for that Hubert,” frowned Bernadetta. “She’s very hurt, she’s as messed up as you are.”

“I saw her going on a date,” said Hubert as he thought back to the opera. “She’ll be fine.”

“But will you be if you let her go?” demanded Bernadetta.

“I’ll have to be,” said Hubert quietly. “There are things about myself that I have tried to change, and failed. She deserves someone who can always put her first.”

“Do you think I always put Ferdinand first?”

“What?”

Bernadetta sighed and sipped her tea. “My father literally beat into me the idea that I needed to be a subservient wife on my knees meeting my husband’s every need. Sometimes, well Ferdinand needs to sleep on the couch. Sometimes Bernie needs to stay at work late and he has to cancel his meeting and get the kids. What I’m trying to say is that life is constantly negotiating the order of your priorities. Sometimes I put Ferdinand first, sometimes my kids, sometimes my job, and sometimes myself. It’s not a static order with my husband at the top and me at the bottom like my father wanted me to believe.”

Hubert swallowed uncomfortably. Her facial expression was hardened, “Do you remember what I was like when I came to Garreg Mach?”

“I believe you punched me in the face,” said Hubert as he thought back to his disastrous assignment to liberate Bernadetta from her father.

“I was terrified of everything, I wouldn’t leave my room. I wanted to change, no one wants to be like that, but I couldn’t, not alone,” said Bernadetta. “Sometimes we need help from others to become the people we want to be.”

Bernadetta reached out and put her hand over Hubert’s, “I think you’re capable of changing, maybe not on your own, but maybe if you would just let Dorothea help you, you might be able to become someone that believes themselves worthy of the life she wants with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this is a comedy y'all, not a tragedy!  
> [I made a playlist for this fic too: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/020WiJxO6FAHIc2GCgvJPU]


	16. A real suitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I do subsist on tears and screams, I couldn't stand letting you think they weren't getting back together in true rom-com fashion.

The show was closed and now Count Mittelfrank was hosting his great big party to celebrate a successful season and all the money he made. Dorothea always found these to be weird affairs where rich nobles tended to get drunk and touch the actors they were lusting after. They seemed to conflate a character played on stage with the real person before them. As she’d gotten older she’d learned to be more firm, but there was always a fine line between reputing an advance and losing her next role. She winked in the mirror as she realized she didn’t actually need the Mittelfrank anymore; her next role was as a spy. Unfortunately though she might be a spy on stage so she decided against burning down the estate on her way out.

She’d just worn red on stage for seven solid months. Tonight she chose emerald velvet that brought out the color of her eyes. It was a rather form fitting number with one sleeve. She liked it because it covered her Saggitae scars, which she didn’t much like exposing, and because it was ruched in all the right places to make her waist look extra small relative to her hips. The neckline deemphasized her breasts, but the dress played up her ass. She liked to promote one or the other, and sometimes both at the same time. Tonight was a ‘don’t stare at my tits’ and ‘be sad I’m walking away’ kind of night.

She did her make up rather dark. She was the Mystical Songstress after all. She was mystery and magic, a dark past, and frankly a dismal present and a cloudy future when it came to matters of the heart. Dorothea practiced her fake smile in the mirror. She was going to need it tonight.

***

“What do you mean you RSVP’d yes?” demanded Lord Vestra icily as he looked at his assistant cowering behind the garment bag he’d brought to the office.

Fritz was pale, he hated messing up, “You said you wanted to test the waters for getting an agent in as a stage hand on tour. I sent it months ago, I didn’t realize—”

“And I can’t send anyone else?” Lord Vestra was tempted to throw the suit on Fritz and force him to go in his stead as punishment.

“Count Mittelfrank sent you a personal message this morning about how excited he is to meet you,” said Fritz anxiously.

Lord Vestra growled. “It’s my money he’s interested in, not me. And I’m sure as hell not interested in meeting him.” Dorothea had told him all about the miserable sack of shit who owned the opera company. Mittelfrank liked young pretty women, and he liked to audition them himself alone in his office. Dorothea was lucky she was too young for Mittelfrank when she joined the opera, and by the time she was his favorite age she was running off to Garreg Mach. Hubert took the suit and softened his voice just slightly, “This isn’t your fault Fritz, but damn do I wish I was going anywhere else this evening.”

Fritz, for all his social faults, did have a good sense for fashion. He’d chosen Hubert’s finest three piece suit; it wasn’t a tuxedo, but it had cost as much. Ferdinand had insisted Hubert get this; it was black but inappropriately form fitting for something like a funeral. Black pants, black jacket, and a dark green vest over his white shirt. Bernadetta had called it the ‘fuck me’ suit. It was not what Hubert would have chosen for himself tonight, but here he was in his office getting ready for a party that he was going to be arriving late to.

Hubert stared at the cheerful bow tie Fritz had selected and decided against it. He didn’t have anything else so he just wore the shirt unbuttoned at the top. He might as well lean back into his image as the predator at the party. These nobles ought to hide their wives, and themselves. The big bad wolf was reluctantly back in town.

Hubert sighed as he tried to brush his hair out of his eyes. It stubbornly flopped back over his right eye. He probably should have gotten a hair cut and it was way too late to try and shave. He was a well dressed ruffian, perfect. Let them stare, let them whisper. He didn’t care about much right now.

Hubert was content to spend the party on the periphery in silence and observing, yet people kept talking to him. It seemed they all wanted his reaction to the opera and in particular how he was depicted. He politely praised the actors but Hubert kept his opinions on the writing vague.

Eventually even the host, Count Mittelfrank, made his way over. He had inherited the opera, founded by his grandfather. Mittelfrank liked to collect pretty things: paintings, statues, singers. His home was a celebration of excess and the arts and packed to the brim with beautiful people and stunning art. He thought he had great taste, but all his pieces screamed ‘I was expensive’ and lacked the kind of cohesion Hubert had learned to look for when decorating. Perhaps he’d learned some things from Dorothea after all, perhaps she’d been able to change him a little.

“Lord Vestra, I must say I was alarmed when I heard you of all people had purchased one our private balconies for the season,” Mittelfrank said. “I was worried you were coming to shut us down.”

“Why would you presume I would do that?” asked Hubert as he looked out at all the elites hobnobbing with actors and artists.

“Well, when I agreed to produce _The War for Unification_ there was a good deal of concern about depicting active cabinet members on stage,” explained Mittelfrank. “So when you showed up with Prime Minister Aegir and Justice Varley in tow, I thought for sure opening night would be closing night.”

“We may be politicians but we have a sense of humor,” said Hubert dryly as he sipped his whiskey. “Plus, as I’m sure you well know, I am not one to make a big public show when I take care of things I find objectionable.” Hubert smirked and delighted at the way the Count’s face lost its color.

Mittelfrank laughed uncomfortably, “Right, well, I have some other donors to speak to. I’ll leave you to enjoy the party.”

Hubert could see Dorothea in the center of the room, glimmering like the beautiful star she was. She was in her element here, and he was the one that did not belong. He wouldn’t interrupt her, but he also wasn’t ready to leave the party quite yet. What would he even say if she wanted to talk, ‘ _sorry my family tradition fucked me up, please take me back?_ ’ that was a weak excuse.

Instead he made his way towards the night to walk the candlelit garden. It was quite a nice place to kill some time. Here in the shadows, the couples trying to get some privacy for their activities didn’t pay him much heed. Hubert focused instead on the stars that were visible. A chill was setting in Fodlan and the skies were clear and crisp.

As he traced back towards the party he could hear the ends of an argument on the balcony above him. Hubert climbed the stairs to find Dorothea out on the balcony. “Oh it’s only you,” she whispered with relief as she turned to see who was approaching.

“Who were you afraid it was?” he asked.

“Oh, Baron Reynolds, he’s been dogging me all night,” said Dorothea with disgust. “He supposes he can court me by force.”

“Do you want me to remove him with force?” asked Hubert as he looked back at the party. He’d love to smack the dumb naval minister around although that would probably be a political nightmare. Duels were firmly out of favor in the new Adrestria, which was a shame because Hubert had a twenty year old vintage dark seal inside him and he could kill better than ever.

“No,” laughed Dorothea as she wiped away her tears. “What I need is a good man to court me.”

Hubert knew he had let her down in telling her to find someone better when she wanted him. Living quite apart had been painful in comparison to what it had been before. Distance wasn’t helping him to forget about her. She ran through his dreams out of reach. Her name graced papers crossing his desk. Her absence at his side was felt every night.

Hubert took her hand and kissed it gently. “Well, I’m not a particularly good man, but you did propose to me once. Maybe I’m ready to answer.”

They had been so young then. It had been a joke she had made in passing about Edelgard commanding him to marry her. Dorothea groaned, “You know I have real suitors who you’re probably scaring away right now.”

“You don’t think I could be a real suitor?” asked Hubert as he politely released her hand.

“Sometimes I’m not sure what you are,” she said softly. “But at the end of the night, we return alone to our two different worlds. I’m out here a fool trying to find true love and you, you’re a servant of a dead Emperor’s dreams.”

Hubert looked out in the direction of the city as his heart felt heavy at her words. “Our world aren’t that different really. You spend your nights trying to get to the bottom of people’s hearts to see who they really are. My work is much the same. That’s why you are going to make an excellent spy.” He faced her now and pulled out a pocket square to carefully dry her eyes, “I think you see who I really am, and you aren’t scared.”

“Hubert of course I see who you are,” whispered Dorothea. “And why would I be scared of you?”

“I’m scared of me,” whispered Hubert. He was terrified when Lord Vestra lashed out without warning. He was frightened when he cast so hard he destroyed nerves. He knew if he kept going like this he wasn’t going to see 40. He took a deep breath, “But, maybe you can teach me to be someone I’m less afraid of. Maybe you can help me to become better so I’m not that scary at all.”

Hubert wanted Dorothea, he wanted her happy, and he was sick of being the reason she was sad, “Leave with me right now, let them fill in the rest with their rumors.”

“I can’t leave, it’s my job to stay,” said Dorothea. “And you might not care about what people say, but I do. They call me your whore.”

He wanted to kill anyone who dared to think such a thing, but he was trying to be less murdery especially around her. “Then let them say how surprised they are that you’re my wife,” said Hubert. It was a poor and spontaneous proposal, and he would not fault her for laughing in his face.

Dorothea folded her arms and narrowed her gaze on him, “Do you have a ring?”

“You didn’t have one for me,” he challenged. Of course he didn’t have a ring! He hadn’t meant to propose to her, but the idea of losing her because he wouldn’t formally give her his commitment was too much to bear. It was just a ring and piece of paper, it wasn’t some magical transformation. It would still be them beneath the paperwork. No one was good enough for her, but Hubert was going to at least try to be. He had committed himself fully to Adrestia, and it hadn’t loved him back very well. It had hurt him, repeatedly, quite a bit. Committing himself to Dorothea would at least be returned in kind. Bernadetta had helped him see things in a new light; he didn’t have to give up his duties, he just had to learn to shift them around as needed. Right now, Adrestia could suck it, Dorothea was the only thing in his heart and on his mind.

“I’ve turned down more serious proposals for less,” she warned.

“I also haven’t heard you say no yet,” said Hubert. He placed his hands on either side of her waist. The velvet of her dress felt so tempting, he just wanted to run his hands along her forever, “Say your goodbyes, and we’ll grab our coats and walk out. I’ll buy you a ring first thing in the morning if you’ll help me pick it out.”

“I can’t marry you,” said Dorothea flatly. Hubert bit his lip through his sigh, there it was: the rejection he’d always expected from her. Dorothea continued, “You never even tried to court me.”

Hubert squinted at her and wondered if he’d heard her right, “You want me to take you to tea or something?”

“ _Please_ ,” said Dorothea. “Maybe dinner at a restaurant you don’t own, perhaps we could go to a club that doesn’t have strippers. And not as Lady Thorn and Lord Vestra, as us.”

“You seriously just want me to court you?” clarified Hubert in mild disbelief. “Weren’t you the one who originally suggested marriage as a way to get to know me?”

“Well I was young and stupid, and besides, I do know you now,” snapped Dorothea as she pulled on his jacket to bring his face a little closer to her.

“Alright, but I’m not going to pretend with you that I’m any good at this courting business,” said Hubert with a sigh. “This is why I seduce married people and stick with short affairs; I can only keep up that kind of romance for brief stints. At the end of the day I can’t cover up that I’m a creature of habit and dull pursuits. I’m not going to be sweeping you off your feet at every turn.”

“You don’t have to be romantic all the time,” said Dorothea. She grinned, “But it wouldn’t kill you to try every once and while.”

“Would it be romantic for me to go kick Reynold’s ass?” Hubert leaned in and gently kissed around her ear.

“No,” hissed Dorothea as she arched her neck so he could kiss her more. It felt so wonderful to touch her skin again. Hubert wanted to stay in this moment as long as he could.

“What about making love to you in Count Mittelfrank’s coat closet?”

She cleared her throat, “While tempting, let’s just start with dancing in front of people.” Dorothea drew him in even closer. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“It’s not my heart that’s changed, it’s just that my head has been slow to catch up,” admitted Hubert as he stared at her. “I’m always going to be fighting these urges to do too much in the line of duty. But I’ve been thinking, maybe if you were there to remind me that I love you and that you love me back, well, maybe you’ll stop me from doing anything too stupid in the name of Adrestia.”

“I don’t know Hubert,” she teased. “You do a lot of stupid stuff.”

Hubert smiled, not a smirk, not a lopsided grin, but an honest smile, “And I will likely continue to, it is my nature. However, I hope the stupidest things I’ve ever done remain firmly in my past.”

“Such as?”

“Letting you go, twice. There won’t be a third time,” promised Hubert as he stopped holding back and kissed her as passionately as he could.

They danced only with each other and when people tried to cut in and dance with the star of the show Lord Vestra gave them a good glare until they backed off. Hubert’s feet hurt they had danced so much by the time they were were making their way to leave. They paused at the coat closet and exchanged evil smirks as they decided it wouldn’t hurt to just go in there for a quickie so everyone could hear the Mystical Songstress making loud noisy love to the mysterious Minister of Whispers. Other singers were laughing at the audacity of it to fuck so indiscreetly in their employer’s foyer. Mittelfrank was caught between wanting to throw them out and losing Lord Vestra’s generous patronage. People were scandalized. Nobles clutched at their pearls, and Hubert and Dorothea clutched at each other because they never wanted to let go again.


	17. Adrestia Day's Eve

**Flashback, Enbarr, 1168**

Hubert and Dorothea didn’t know it, but they had met at least once before Garreg Mach.

Saint Seiros day was the worst holiday to Dorothea. It was cold out. It was hard to sleep when it got this chilly, and when it snowed it hurt to be outside. It also reminded her of when her mom would scrape together money from nowhere and buy Dorothea an orange to enjoy. No more mom now. No more oranges. Dorothea’s stomach growled as she tried to remember the way to the soup kitchen. Enbarr was big, and she’d gotten herself a little lost from where she usually hung out. She wasn’t quite sure where she was because of the snow hiding the little landmarks she usually used to navigate. It looked like a nicer part of town, and that was dangerous. The ‘nice’ people of the nice parts of town didn’t like street urchins loitering around. Dorothea pulled her threadbare coat around her and wished she had stolen something a little warmer off that clothesline in the fall.

Saint Seiros day was the worst holiday to Hubert. His father wasn’t big on church, but they always went on the major saints days. Hubert looked up and could see the Marquis was a little zoned out as the service went on so Hubert sneakily decided he could let his mind wander too. Saint Seiros must know he didn’t care much for church. This was probably why he didn’t get presents like other children, he didn’t believe hard enough and Seiros somehow had figured him out.

He paused and pulled on his new red scarf, well this was like a present! Sure it was clothes, and he’d gotten months ago, but it was as close as he was going to get to a Saint Seiros day gift. He got to pick out the color and everything. His father had asked, “Would you not prefer black?” in a not subtle attempt to get Hubert into Vestra colors, and Hubert had insisted, “No! Red, please!” It was Edelgard’s favorite color, so it was also his. Anyway, his old scarf was black, he wanted Adrestia red!

After church, the von Hresvelgs would return to the palace for a small private family dinner. Hubert and his father were not invited, they had today off, so they would go do charity work instead. “It’s important to give back Hubert,” lectured the Marquis as he held his son’s hand and led him through the gas lamp lit streets.

“Because of the holiday—” started Hubert trying to remember whatever the priest had been yammering on about.

“No, because it’s the right thing to do,” corrected the Marquis. “We don’t have many days off, so we don’t do this as often as we should, but you and I have a lot, and some people have nothing at all.” His father pulled him along, seeming to know the way. All these streets looked the same to Hubert’s eyes. “We serve the Emperor, but we also must serve the Empire, and its people. Today we’re going to do that by serving food.”

Right, right, Hubert had this down by now. They did this every holiday. His father would do the difficult part, handling that great big ladle Hubert was way too short to reach, and Hubert would make sure there was a constant supply of clean bowls to fill. There would be a lot of people there to feed, but also a lot of volunteers there to help.

Dorothea followed her nose. Soup kitchen located! It wasn’t her typical haunt. This one was really close to the palace and that gave Dorothea a bad feeling. There was a rumor going around that kids that hung out near the palace tended to disappear and didn’t come back. Something about people in bird masks. Dorothea didn’t want to find out any more about that, the message was: see a crow mask, run, run, run away.

Hubert was the master of bowls. Need a bowl? Hubert had it. He kept them coming from the back where other volunteers were washing and drying. He’d even gotten big enough to push a little trolley so there were even more bowls that he could bring back and forth. His father had him help to arrange the filled ones so that the line could move a little quicker, it was out the door tonight. Holidays were always extra busy. From his eye level most of these people were just coats and arms taking their dinner. Then there was someone short like him. A little girl, about his age, big green eyes. Hubert tried to smile, but she frowned at him suspiciously and took her bowl quickly. Hubert sulked a little because he knew his smile wasn’t the best. Hubert got back to his bowl trolley and took the dirty ones to the back and brought back more clean ones for filling.

The little girl ate at least 4 bowls of soup. She wasn’t with anyone, she just kept getting back in line and no one said anything. Hubert ate his own bowl of soup when things finally started getting slow at the end of the night. It was pretty good, he could understand wanting a lot of it.

He stacked clean bowls and put them where the adults could return them to the cabinets. He helped wipe down the tables. The kitchen was closed, no more soup, and they were trying to clean up and go home. This was always Hubert’s least favorite part of Saint Seiros Day, when people were sent home with nowhere to go. Hubert kept his head down and cleaned while he listened to people begging to just be allowed to sleep here tonight. Hubert didn’t like his room very much but at least he had one, he even had his own bed.

“Get your coat on Hubert, we’re leaving soon,” said his father as the Marquis finished bringing back the giant pots. Hubert nodded and pulled it on, and pulled his new red scarf out of his front pocket to loop it around his neck. It was knitted from something really soft and Hubert probably spent too much time tickling his own nose with the fringe at the end. He was idly playing with the scarf on the front steps while he waited for his father to come out so they could finally walk home.

The little girl had finally gotten kicked out of the soup kitchen. She pulled her coat tight and shivered as she stood looking around. “Which way is the river?”

Hubert realized she was asking him. He looked up in a panic, he had no idea, “Uh, I don’t know.” He paused trying to think of how he could be helpful, and pointed the way he had come, “The church is that way.”

“Which one?”

Hubert didn’t know there was more than one church in Enbarr. “I-I don’t know which one, the one I go to.”

The girl sighed and Hubert felt a little useless. Her coat did not look very warm. Hubert wondered if she needed help, “Where are your parents?”

“My mom is dead,” said the girl harshly.

“Mine too,” said Hubert softly. He could see his breath as he exhaled, he was going to put his feet up next to the fireplace when they got home, it was freezing tonight and he was super glad for his scarf. He looked again at the girl, she didn’t have a scarf. She looked cold. She looked towards the streets and started to walk. “Hey wait,” called Hubert as he got up and walked after her.

“Leave me alone,” she shouted back. “I don’t like you.”

Hubert was used to not being liked. He continued to walk, “Wait, did you get a Saint Seiros day present?”

The girl stopped and turned to him with her face looking angry, “Are you stupid?”

Hubert pulled his scarf off his neck, “Happy holidays.” He held it out to her. Just because he didn’t get gifts didn’t mean he couldn’t try giving one.

“Is this a trick?”

“No,” Hubert faltered uncertainty. He had never given a gift before, maybe he wasn’t doing it right. “You look cold, and I have another old scarf at home.” The black one from two years ago, ugh, it was fine, maybe a little scratchy, but a scarf was a scarf no matter how soft and red. This was the right thing to do. She took it, and bolted. She didn’t stay long enough for him to ask where she was going or if he could help her.

“Hubert, what are you doing?” His father was mad, Hubert was supposed to be waiting on the steps, not out in the middle of the street.

“Sorry,” piped up Hubert as he ran back.

“Where is your scarf?”

Hubert felt like if he lied, his father would know because he always seemed to know when Hubert was lying. Hubert swallowed uneasily, “I gave it away.”

His father sighed and nodded, and then did the little game of call and answer they always played, “Who do we serve?”

“The empire,” said Hubert happily, proud that his father was rewarding him with this rather than yelling at him.

“That’s right, let’s go home,” the Marquis offered his hand and Hubert quickly took it. “Hubert, next time, please try to give away your old scarf, not your new one.”

“Right,” sighed Hubert. Goodbye girl, goodbye lovely red scarf, hello old scratchy boring black scarf.

Dorothea wrapped the scarf around her face and sighed. It was really soft and extremely warm. She kept it all winter, and then when spring came, it was a little too warm to wear. She had scored a little bag that she kept it in all summer. She’d touch it sometimes after bad days to remind herself that not everyone was terrible. Someone had been nice to her. She never got a good look at him, he was just a regular little boy, nothing special. Eventually she traded the scarf and some other things she’d collected so that for the next winter she’d have an actual warm coat and not have to steal one. She was sad to see the scarf go, she really liked the color, and she had really liked the feeling of receiving a gift.

**Adrestia Day’s Eve 1196**

Hubert handed her an envelope. Dorothea wasn’t sure what to expect as she opened it. Her eyes scanned over the official looking receipt. “You made a donation in my name?”

“It’s a scholarship,” explained Hubert. “Or an endowment for one rather; to be awarded to someone from one of the children’s homes here in Enbarr each year. With it they’ll be able to attend the officer’s academy on a full ride for four years. Right now it’s only enough to be awarded to one new person a year, but it should grow over time.”

Dorothea swallowed, it was not a gift she would have ever expected but it was a wonderful gesture. It was something she wished existed back when she was trying to make her way to Garreg Mach. “Hubert, where did you even get an idea like this?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about my family and their traditions recently,” explained Hubert. “A lot of it was unforgivable, but not all of the things the Vestras were known for were bad, and those are the things I’d like to continue. For example, my father always made donations instead of giving gifts at the holidays,” explained Hubert. “This time of year was always a somber time to reflect on how much we had, and to give back through charity. But, then we would go upstairs and watch the imperial children open all their presents, so I recognize that such an abstract gift should probably be balanced out with something material.” He pulled a small wrapped box out from behind one of the throw pillows.

Dorothea opened it to discover an especially large pair of earrings with real gemstones. They were extremely flashy and just her style, “They’re beautiful,” she said as she put them on.

“Just be careful later, that Aegir baby is quite grabby,” warned Hubert.

“I’m aware,” said Dorothea painfully as she remembered her last experience with the child and dangly earrings. She pulled out the first gift for him, “Fritz picked this out, and then paid for it with your money, so I don’t know if this is really a gift. He was very insistent that this is what you wanted.”

Hubert opened the bag, which contained a sack of coffee beans and a bottle of aged whiskey. He smirked, “I told him I couldn’t accept anything from him, so of course he tried to co-opt your gift.”

“He’s your Hubert,” laughed Dorothea. “He seemed much more endearing after I made that realization.”

Hubert smelled the coffee beans and then put them back, “Fritz is very strange, but I do like him.”

“What did you get him for the holidays?”

“The week off and a bonus,” said Hubert. “And he’ll be at the estate tomorrow evening for dinner. I suggested he could bring a date, but I do not think he will.” Everyone would be there, Hubert was opening his home up for a massive dinner for anyone at the Ministry or in his staff to come and share the holiday so no one would have to spend it alone.

“Well, I got this when I wasn’t out with him,” winked Dorothea as she pulled out her real gift for him.

Hubert opened the parcel which contained the latest installment his favorite series, _Dark and Dangerous XII: Voyages and Vampire_ s. “Oh wow, you actually went out and bought this? I always order mine to a fake name.”

“I did not know that was an option,” admitted Dorothea as she recalled the elaborate disguises she and Bernadetta had donned to go purchase the smutty books. Fake mustaches and glasses had been involved as well as Dorothea’s old hat from Garreg Mach.

“Thank you, I look forward to torturing you with the best passages,” promised Hubert as he scanned the first page with delight. “Oh here we go, It was a dark and stormy night on the islands of Brigid.” He scoffed, “ Do you suppose this is about sexy beach vampires?”

“Please save it for later,” begged Dorothea as she absently felt the new dangling earrings. She picked up her tea and sipped it, enjoying the quiet moment of closeness. Things had been going well; Hubert was maybe not the best at courting but he was trying really hard. He took her to dinner, he took her to shows, he had even written her a poem. She had laughed a lot at it because it wasn’t very serious, but it was incredibly sweet of him to try.

_Roses are red,_

_Violets are purple...but we’ll call them blue,_

_Because that’s the only color,_

_That rhymes with I love you._

They still had some time before leaving for the von Aegirs. Bernadetta hated when guests arrived too early, it made her very anxious. They still had time to kill.

Dorothea looked over at a wrapped box that was still sitting by the fireplace. It was not with the presents wrapped for the von Aegir children, and looked quite lonely just on its own. “Who is that for?”

Hubert looked at the box and paused, “Well, it’s not actually for you, but you could open it, I suppose.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Dorothea suspiciously as she got up to pick it up. It was large but not especially heavy. She returned to the couch, and found that shaking it didn’t produce much sound.

“Just open it,” said Hubert as he watched her carefully. “I was going to wait until we got back from dinner, but perhaps now is better.”

Dorothea slid off the paper and the top of the box, but was extremely confused by what she was looking at. She saw tiny white felted pegasi on strings, attached to a series of wood dowels. She pulled the whole contraption up. It was a rather simple, but utterly charming mobile. Dorothea stared at it, “Who is this for?”

“Someone who doesn’t exist yet,” Hubert said cryptically as he scratched at the back of his head, and looked fondly at the tiny pegasi. “I saw it in a shop window and decided I needed to have it, but after you lecturing me about decor and how it needs to harmonize, I realized it only made sense if we also had a baby to go with it.”

Dorothea felt a tingling sensation running through her as she listened to him.

Hubert cleared his throat, “I um, I think about my daughter often. I don’t think that I’ll ever fully forgive myself for what happened in Shambhala, but I’ve come to think that maybe she’s forgiven me.” Hubert paused and wiped at his nose, “And I also think she’d be rather disappointed in me if I never moved past it and tried to be someone else’s father in the future, especially now that I’m with someone who I believe if memory serves, is a notorious baby hog and might someday want one of her own.”

Hubert carefully took the mobile and placed it back in the box. He placed it on the coffee table and took Dorothea’s hands, “I’d like you to consider that as a promise from me to you. While I can’t say when, or whether it will be child we make or one we take, if and when you’re ready, tell me and I will make it happen.”

Dorothea’s throat was tight as she listened, “Did you just suggest one we _take_?”

“Yes, if you see one you like, let me know,” laughed Hubert. “I’m not above kidnap, though I would prefer a standard adoption if that’s the way we go.”

Dorothea was caught between laughing and crying and ended up doing both, “Don’t you think we should get married first?”

“Oh right,” grumbled Hubert as he dug around in the couch cushions. “I supposed you’d prefer to do things in the traditional order.” He produced a small box. This one wasn’t wrapped, and he opened it to reveal an engagement ring and two wedding bands inside. Hubert shyly handed her the box, “I’m not sure if you want a long engagement or a short one, so I had the bands made up too.”

Dorothea stared at the box and its contents. She slipped both the engagement ring and the wedding band onto her finger and then took the other band and put it onto Hubert’s hand. “We can go to the registrars when they open after the holidays,” said Dorothea as she snapped the empty box shut.

Hubert rubbed the ring and looked at her, “I really thought you’d want a big wedding.”

“Oh, we are having a _huge_ party to celebrate later,” smiled Dorothea. She leaned forward and kissed him, “But I think we eloped just now.” She climbed into his lap and kissed him some more, “Do you have any other presents hiding in this couch that I should know about?”

Hubert raised his eyebrow mischievously, “Just in my pants, if you don’t mind being slightly late to dinner.”

“You are the absolute worst,” she said with a smile as she unbuttoned his fly. “And no pulling out,” she commanded. “I want to hang up that mobile as soon as possible.”

***

Dorothea was holding the Aegir baby at a safe distance from her new earrings while Hubert sat beside her. Hubert wrapped his arm around her and rubbed his hands on her stomach with his chin on her shoulder. “We’re going to make this kid’s worst nightmare,” he whispered into Dorothea’s ear. He spoke to the baby in a cooing tone that was unsettlingly un-Hubert like, “That’s right, our offspring is going to absolutely crush you von Aegir.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes, “Hubert, are you really threatening a baby?”

“I’m just giving him fair warning. Look at him,” said Hubert as he narrowed his gaze. The one year old was happily drooling, “He ripped your earing through your earlobe; we’ll have our revenge, or will force our children to get it for us.”

Dorothea passed Hubert the baby, “Be nice. I’m going to help Bernadetta.”

Hubert stared down at the baby with his wispy red hair and gently bounced him, “She thinks I’m joking. I’m not. No one messes with my wife.”

Dorothea poked her head back in looking irate, “Hubie! Stop. Just bring him in the kitchen and behave yourself.”

“He started it,” growled Hubert as he lifted the baby into the air to a cascade of excited babbling, and followed her into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue got too long, so it's getting it's own chapter...


	18. Glimpses into Mostly Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the babies, all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wrote a quick non-CF route Dorobert one off... and it's sad.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/22136056

**Flash Forward**

**Enbarr, 1198**

Felix was somehow worse at white magic than Hubert was. He examined his boss’ eye and sighed, “Well, I’m sure Dorothea can fix that.” Hubert was supposed to be taking Dorothea out to dinner tonight. He sighed, he was already late getting home thanks to this little escapade.

She was feeling pretty down. The last two years of marriage had brought with it several miscarriages, which were never easy. The most recent one had really taken its toll and they’d had a tough conversation about stopping trying to get pregnant. Dorothea was on a sabbatical from spy work, and she was writing a lot instead, working on her own plays. They were looking into adoption. Unfortunately the whole orphanage system was overwhelming, because for every kid they saw there were ten more just as deserving of a home. It was depressing to navigate, and Hubert wasn’t really sure what the right step was.

“How bad is it?” Hubert had been hit in the side of the face by the spell and his eye was too swollen shut to look out of.

“Um, well, you were always ugly so it’s not too much of a change,” suggested Felix as he took off his own brass knuckles to slip discretely into his pocket. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll handle the police,” he paused and raised his voice, “Who finally decided to show up!” Felix glared at the slow Enbarr cops, and then back at Hubert, “And you can go verify the objectionable wares.”

“Thanks a lot,” grumbled Hubert as he got up and made for the little wagon. Monkey heads were hanging in baskets from the thing and the smell coming off it was potent. The tip had come in late on a Friday and Felix and Hubert were the only dumb assholes still at work, so they took it. Derrik the Dark Merchant, one of their black market informants, described what he had seen for sale here as ‘alarming’ and ‘extremely objectionable’. It’s owner, the now dead guy in the street that Felix was explaining as he flashed his ministry badge at the poor police officers, had Slither tattoos up his arms, and even a couple tattoos on his face. He also had a split tongue and Hubert was so over these weird ass dark mages.

The cart was cramped inside. It had the standard stuff: old musty books, maps to far off places, a few dark seals that had clearly come out of people judging by their shapes, a couple staffs, and a covered cage. Oh fuck, please do not be a cat, thought Hubert, disgruntled by the idea. He hated finding animals in these wagons because nine times out of ten they were mangy and pissed, and usually attacked the first person to open the cage. Felix had adopted a cat from one of these raids and the thing shared his almost exact moody personality.

The cage was silent, maybe it was a dead cat, blergh. Hubert read the tag: “For experimental and/or spell use only”. Great. Hubert braced himself as he pulled off the cover and was greeted by the sight of a very scared looking little baby.

“Oh fuck,” muttered Hubert reflexively as he looked at the tiny toddler that was backing herself up to the back corner of the cage and bringing up her little hands to shield her face. This was as Derrik suggested: alarming and extremely objectionable. Derrik hadn’t even been inside the wagon, he could tell from the stuff outside this shit was bad news.

“Hello,” said Hubert weakly as he looked at the lock. The girl was extremely young, perhaps only a little more than one year old, and not especially clean. She was dressed in a scratchy burlap sack. There was a little bowl of Morfis plums in there for her to eat, but she looked pretty small and underfed. She was shaking as she peeked at him. “How do I get you out of here?”

The dark mage had to have keys. Hubert tore out of the wagon and to the body. The cops and Felix were horrified as Hubert started looting the dead man, checking pockets and chains, “Keys, did he have any keys on him?”

Felix produced the key ring and Hubert quickly stole it off him and ran back to the wagon. “Why did this jerk have so many keys?” He eventually found the right one. Hubert grabbed the cloth that had been covering the cage and laid it on the floor. He gently reached in and hoped this was not a bitey baby, which mercifully she was not, only terrified. She squirmed and sniffled as he laid her down on the cloth. “Hello there, little, person.” He checked her over for any obvious injuries. There was a little scab near her shoulder where clearly her blood had been repeatedly drawn. Hubert did his best white magic heal spell and made it almost totally disappear save for a tiny scar. That seemed to put her a little at ease as she studied him.

The girl had big brown eyes and dark hair that had been poorly trimmed. Her skin was a little tan, like she could be from Brigid, or Almarya, or who the fuck knew where. Her lip trembled as she looked up at him. Hubert quickly swaddled her up because it was chilly out, and held her to his chest. “You’re safe now, I promise,” whispered Hubert as his mind raced with what to do about this.

Could he just take her home? Was that even legal? Hubert exited the wagon with the child protectively clutched to his body and whistled for Felix, who had apparently smoothed things over with the cops who would be transporting the dead dark mage to the morgue.

“Is that a baby, what the fuck,” demanded Felix in a whisper.

“I, I’m taking her,” announced Hubert with conviction.

Felix snorted, “You can’t resist anything that falls off a dark merchant wagon can you?”

Hubert could not help but smile. Dorothea had outright banned him from bringing home any more weird stuff he found on the job. He was confident she’d make an exception this one time. “Can you cover the clean up of this?”

“Oh sure, I’ll just conscript some of Fodlan’s finest over there,” sighed Felix. “I’ll uh, I’ll stop by your place later?”

“Perfect,” said Hubert as he mentally prepared for what he was going to say to Dorothea.

Dorothea didn’t ask too many questions as they prepared a little bath and looked at what was definitely now their baby. She looked back at them, seeming pretty unconvinced. They were going to have to win her over, starting with a nice bubble bath. As they both fussed and fretted over her she seemed to soften just slightly towards them, satisfied that these two weirdos probably weren’t going to suck out her blood, use her in experiment, or expect her to subsist on raw Morfis plums.

Felix came by later with some milk and the von Aegirs, who had come with all the left over baby stuff they no longer needed. This was good because Hubert and Dorothea only had a tiny pegasus mobile that had been sadly waiting for years for someone to spin over.

“What will you name her?” asked Ferdinand as he watched the baby from over Hubert’s shoulder. She was clinging to Hubert because she didn’t quite trust anyone else yet and her big eyes were heavy with suspicion directed at all these strangers. She didn’t know it yet but this was to be Uncle Felix and Uncle Ferdie, Aunt Bernie and her two new cousins. The man she was clinging to would be daddy, and the woman whose finger she was squeezing with her best baby death grip would be mom.

“We decided on Elyse, for Edelgard and Lysithea,” said Dorothea fondly, and everyone agreed that was perfect.

Hubert saved the tag that had been on little Elyse’s cage because there was no way anyone was going to believe this. He framed it for his desk at work even though he didn’t need any extra motivation to go after terrible Slithers. He did however sometimes require a little reminder not to work so late because Elyse, once cared for like someone worth loving, was thriving as she ran around their new townhouse chasing the stupid dog Dorothea had convinced him to get.

**Enbarr, 1199**

Another year, another Adrestia Day’s Eve spent by the fireplace wrapping presents at the last minute. Dorothea was in charge of the paper, Hubert got ribbon duty. She was grumbling in exasperation, “Why do we always wait so long to do this?”

The answer was work, but the important thing was that tomorrow morning, all the presents would be by the fireplace, wrapped, and Elyse wasn’t going to know what to do with herself when she saw them all. She was finally getting old enough to understand how this whole holiday business went down and it was safe to say she liked it. They had already intercepted her about three times trying to sneak a peek from the stairs. Hubert warned her if she didn’t go to sleep, the Emperor wasn’t going to warp here and leave any presents. That got her straight to bed.

Hubert was cutting a rather long ribbon. He draped it over Dorothea who looked up at him with a smirk, “What are you doing?”

“Wrapping up my holiday bonus,” he said as he tied it around her. During the annual performance reviews, Hubert had called Dorothea into his office and looked up to see she was trying to violate just about every rule in the dress code with her short skirt, long stockings and those thigh high leather boots. Apparently she had concocted a fantasy a while back and desperately wanted to carry it out. How could he possibly refuse something like this?

She was very particular about what she wanted him to say and do, although he successfully convinced her spilling inkwells wasn’t sexy it was just a huge pain to clean up. Everything else he did as quietly as he could because his office was literally in the center of Central, and while it was soundproofed because of the conversations that occurred there, he was sure everyone knew what they were doing. He didn’t really get the holiday bonus bit because it was totally the wrong time of year, but she was insistent that he whisper it in her ear in a really cold way when he finished.

Dorothea adjusted the ribbon bow over the swell of their very special holiday bonus inside her, “Sorry, this gift won’t be ready until after New Year’s.” Hubert could definitely wait.

**Enbarr, 1200**

Hubert looked down at his son and sighed, “I’m really sorry Dorothea.”

She sat up with a start, “What, what’s wrong with him?”

“He looks just like me,” laughed Hubert as he looked at the tell tale Vestra cheekbones prominently poking out of his poor newborn’s face. “This poor kid is doomed!”

“Oh fuck you,” sighed Dorothea with relief as she relaxed back into the fresh sheets. “Don’t scare me like that. I thought he was broken or something.” Hubert got up and sat to the side of her so she could also clearly see their sleepy little squishy son. He had his eyes shut but at least the shape of them were promising, and Hubert hoped the kid had gotten Dorothea’s smile, and hopefully her personality.

He went and got Elyse, who was clutching an ancient stuffed pegasus named Peggles, and brought her in to meet her new brother. “He didn’t come off a wagon,” she remarked. They had tried to convince her that babies were from lots of places, and that this one was from when mommy and daddy cast a special spell on each other. Elyse wasn’t buying it, she really didn’t like magic, at all.

“It doesn’t matter how we all got here, just that we’re together,” Hubert promised her as he kissed her on the head and hugged his precious family close.

Their kids were not going to have to become vassals at six, or sing on street corners for dinner at eight, or learn to kill people at ten. They weren’t going to have a bunch of scars, physically or mentally, only the normal ones kids got when playing dumb games outside. They would be told they were loved over and over until they got sick of hearing it and kissed good night every night, even when mom and dad left them with their baby sitter to go work late in questionable places, or had gone to a safe house to have especially loud sex away from tiny impressionable ears. The kids would be surprised to learn that people were legitimately afraid of their father, who as far as they knew was sarcastic but not especially scary in the slightest. They were shocked to learn their mother was a renown heart throb because she totally wore a frumpy nightgown to bed that their dad liked way too much.

The next Adrestia Day was spent with a whole lot of family. Bernadetta and Ferdinand came with their children, and Mercedes, Linhardt, and Caspar arrived with the twins. Mercedes had made Elyse a beautiful pegasus plush because Peggles had seen a lot of battles at that point, and brought Byron a wonderful wyvern that just outright horrified Hubert with the implications. He held his son as they watched the others opening presents and whispered, “You can ride a pegasus if you wish, we’ll figure it out, we’ll just find a really big one, I know a breeder.” Byron giggled and dropped the wyvern which Hubert took as him agreeing with that proposition.

This was the Adrestia Day Hubert had spent his life fighting for. This was freedom to marry the person you wanted not out of duty or obligation or crests, but out of love. This was freedom from the strict Imperial traditions and those handed down from the Church of Seiros. This was freedom from the shadows cast by Agarthans that clouded over his youth. There was still darkness in the world that he and Dorothea worked side by side to defeat, but it was nice to take a break for a bit and sit by the fireplace with their children and friends and enjoy the spoils of the war they had all dedicated their formative years to.

Over the decades that followed, the myth of Adrestia day morphed to become a little more fantastical and commercialized as these things tended to. It was said that good and kindly Emperor Edelgard, dressed in red and gold, had a big sack of presents she hung off the back of her axe as she warped across Fodlan to deliver presents to all the girls and boys in the Empire. Behind her it was said there was a shadowy presence, loyal but strict Marquis Hubert, who maintained a very accurate naughty and nice list. When Edelgard heard about the naughty things a child had done she would pause and ask, “But would it really hurt to give them one present, just a small one?” And Hubert was said to grumble and complain as he held up his gloved hands to show how small the present should be based on just how troublesome the kid had been. So kids were good all year because who knew where the Marquis might be hiding out and watching as he kept his list to ensure the Emperor was always well informed.

**Enbarr, 1207**

Dorothea and Hubert traded off on parent-teacher conferences. Today Dorothea found herself wishing it wasn’t her turn as both her kids sat obstinate outside the Principals office at Enbarr Prep. Elyse had bloody knuckles and a look that read ‘no remorse’, and Byron was teary eyed and bloody nosed. Dorothea sighed at them and went in to get an earful about her children. She left wishing she had seen the other kid.

“So how many punches did you get in?” asked Dorothea gently as she healed her daughter’s hands.

“Three,” said Elyse as she wiped her nose. “I warned them to stop. They didn’t listen.” Dorothea was going to have an lecture for Uncle Felix next time he offered to babysit.

Byron was still crying as Dorothea healed his nose back into place. “I don’t think they like me here Mom,” he cried as she held him and Dorothea wanted to cry too because it was true. Her children didn’t fit in with the arrogant youth of Enbarr’s elite. They got a lot of stares because Elyse looked nothing like any of them and was pretty icy and punched hard, and because Byron was a flirty goofball that was gangly and singing all the time. Their parents didn’t fit in very well either: an audacious commoner that directed and produced controversial plays about the dark side of nobility and crests before and after the war, and a noble that disgraced his ancient house by casting aside the legacy of his family name. They weren’t the von Vestras. They were the Arnestras and they looked at old traditions and laughed. They had their own way of doing things, but not everyone approved.

Dorothea composed herself and hugged both her kids close. She remembered what it felt like to get dirty looks as a kid and how horrible that felt. “The next time someone’s bullying you, just tell them what animal they remind you of.”

“What? That seems kind of mean,” sniffled Byron. He was a soft little kid and Dorothea hoped the world wasn’t going to beat up on him too much, or that Elyse would be there to beat back when he needed her help.

“Well it will depend on how you spin it,” promised Dorothea. “If they’re buzzing around you trying to sting, tell them they’re a bee! It will drive them crazy trying to figure it out.”

“What animals are we mom?” demanded Elyse.

“You,” Dorothea paused. Elyse was a goat for sure, stubborn, horned, and willing to eat just about anything, but that wasn’t nice or fun. “You’re a wyvern! I wouldn’t want to mess with you.” Elyse seemed to like that quite a bit.

Dorothea looked at Byron and tapped his healed nose, “And you’re a little happy pegasus. And together the two of you are going to fly around, always together, understand?” Their kids were a couple years apart in age, but Dorothea and Hubert hoped to send them to Garreg Mach so they’d overlap in their time there.

“What animals are you and dad?” Giggling had resumed and the tears were dry.

“Me! I’m a peacock, beautiful voice and feathers, but don’t get too close to my beak,” warned Dorothea. She hoped peacocks sounded beautiful, she had never really heard one. Later she would take the kids to the zoo with Hubert and find out that peacocks didn’t sound very pretty at all and none of them would let her live it down.

“And your dad, totally a tiny pokey hedgehog.” That made her kids laugh a lot at the mental picture of their weird animal family.

Hubert was greeted with a crayon drawing of it when he got home from work, “Am I the pegasus?”

“No dad, that’s you, see those are your glasses,” insisted Elyse as she pointed to the itty bitty hedgehog perched on the wyvern’s head wearing a tiny pair of glasses. They had given the hedgehog plenty of gray hairs. Hubert sighed and framed it for his office.

**Garreg Mach, 1216**

“Really detention again? I’m writing your parents this time,” threatened Byleth as she looked up at the unapologetic Byron Arnestra. His smile came easily as he shrugged at the accusation that he had been poking around the library looking at tomes of advanced magic and then trying a spell or two in the stacks like a massive idiot who could have burned the whole place down. Byleth had though the Gautier or von Riegan children would give her the most trouble, but no, it was the youngest of all her friends’ many, many children that was trying to actively kill her now. “Scratch that, I’m taking you to your house leader.”

With that his big smile actually turned to panic. “No, no please don’t tell Elyse,” begged Byron as he followed after his favorite professor. “Tell my dad or my mom, not my sister!”

Elyse was a small and strict young woman who had a natural talent for flying, and was secretly a total daddy’s girl. She didn’t take shit from anyone, and Byleth thought she was one of the finest house leaders in decades. She reminded Byleth of another ambitious young woman she had met when first teaching. Unlike her parents she didn’t touch magic, it made her anxious for reasons she couldn’t quite pin down, but everything else Byleth threw at her she tackled with gusto. She could easily be prime minister in fifteen or so years if she kept up her course. It was rumored that timid Ferdinand von Aegir II had finally worked up the courage to meet her in the Goddess Tower during his senior year and she had almost tossed him out of a window. Apparently they were now long distance dating by letter while he and his mother were traveling the world collecting carnivorous plants.

Byron was a goofy mage that was better at choir than sparring. His lance work was deplorable but his black magic was decent enough. He was super flirty like his mother, way too sarcastic like his father, and far too handsome for anyone who had those Vestra cheek bones or whose hair hung in his face like that. Thank Sothis that Elyse was around to keep his ass in line.

The siblings spent a great deal of time together, a short serious young woman and her tall little brother that liked to follow her around like some sort of shadow when he wasn’t off wrecking havoc around the school. It reminded Byleth of a pair she used to know, almost, but instead of a conqueror and her dedicated vassal scheming to take over Fodlan, the siblings were only scheming over coffee on how to dominate the other houses in the upcoming mock battle. They were totally going to crush those fools.

“Your mom and dad practically lived in detention,” sighed Byleth as they walked.

“Yeah, they say that’s where they fell in love,” joked Byron. “Can you put some hot girls in detention with me?”

“I though you liked hot boys,” teased Byleth.

“Eh, I like them all,” said Byron as he sank his hands in his giant pockets. They were filled to the brim with questionable things. “Maybe I’m just trying to spend more time with my favorite Professor!” He had the audacity to wink.

Byleth cringed and grimaced, yeah, this was most definitely the hell spawn of Dorothea and Hubert. Detention from today until graduation was surely in his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final Word:
> 
> Well, that’s it, that’s the series! Thank you for joining me along the way on this wacky ~250k word adventure that all started because I thought it was hilarious to picture Hubert and Dorothea as the Black Eagles brute squad while at school, beating up the haters, and then sexily practicing their magic together. I laughed a lot, I cried a little, I cringed writing the sex scenes, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> [edited Feb 2020]  
> While playing Fe3H I related to Hubert on an uncomfortably high level as someone who is sarcastic and suffers serious foot in mouth all the time (the infamous ‘I’m not much for condolences’ part in the game, oh god, too familiar). So yeah, maybe I was feeling super empathetic towards the game’s most persistent villain as I wrote this self-indulgent series where he gets a nice happy ending instead of constantly dying like in 3 of 4 paths in the game. 
> 
> Thank you all for your support and joining me on this long ride. Thank you most for finally allowing me to do what I’ve always wanted to do, write something that other people enjoy reading.


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